The Independent Transporter
by BakaGrappler
Summary: With the galaxy firmly in a Cold War between the Republic and the Empire, all of the real action is taking place in the Underworld. Kelvin Riggs is a specialized Smuggler who has decided it's time his life got a little more interesting again.
1. The Independent Transporter

**Chapter 1 – The Independent Transporter**

It's been a long day for Private Dasheed. This is the twelfth freighter he's had to inspect today as part of the Sith Empire's security forces, and with the spaceport so busy he's expecting to have to go through another ten. But at least this is one of the smaller Corellian freighters, so there is far less cargo to scan, and the number of hidden spaces for smuggling is far less than the larger transports. But even so, the captain of this ship is annoying enough to offset those small blessings. Dasheed can hear him complaining behind him, even now.

"Aww, for frags sake, you guys come late, and now you're scanning my ship _again!_ I got buyers for this grain waiting for me. You keep me here any longer and my cargo will spoil. I'll be out of business, I'll lose my ship!"

"I know how you 'Independent Transporters' work," says the corporal with obvious distain. "I'm not letting you go until I'm completely satisfied you're clean. Of course I could always have you and your ship hauled away for interfering in our duties."

Dasheed can imagine the sneer on the corporal's face as the man says that. Dasheed had hoped to be done with Imperial taskmasters once he signed up for the army, but once a slave always a slave. But at least with this job Dasheed has a full belly and can take his pent up frustrations out on the civilians without getting into any trouble. Or at least he could if he'd been assigned to the garrison of the conquered planet below instead of the orbital spaceport.

"Besides," says the corporal, choosing to try and press his overbearing advantage on the ship's owner, "Who ever heard of one of your kind shipping grain? That's merchant work."

"For regular grain, maybe," says the ship's captain, fully willing to argue, "But this is Meraleekan First Harvest grain. They don't ship this stuff off planet, or sell to anyone who does. Even with the Treaty of Coruscant, this is probably the biggest off world shipment they've done in years. I had to do favors for _five_ brokers for this, and my client is impatient."

It's the same every time for Dasheed. His corporal harasses the merchants, who get indignant and sometimes shrill, saying it's their _client_ that's impatient. You'd think something exciting would happen sometime for an Imperial trooper, but nothing does. At least Dasheed is down to scanning the last few of the large crates. After this, Dasheed will have run through all the scan types and he'll be off to the next indignant merchant's vessel.

And then the scanner bleeps, stating it has found something.

This sort of occurrence is so rare that he doesn't have an instinctive reaction, so Dasheed turns to question his superior, saying, "Sir, I think I've found something with the scanner."

Before Dasheed can speak his third word though, he takes a blaster bolt to the face. Being killed instantly, Dasheed does not hear the following three blaster shots.

Captain Kelvin Riggs, owner and pilot of the Jade Phoenix, is the only one standing at the end, the corpses of all four Imperial soldiers lying on the ground surrounding him. After remaining in his spread open stance for a few more seconds to listen for any signs of breathing, both pistols pointed in different directions, Kelvin is satisfied. With a few quick flicks of the wrists Kelvin twirls his pistols and holsters them like a true gunslinger. After that bit of self indulgence, Kelvin immediately undoes the securements on the corporal's helmet with practiced ease and takes it with him as he dashes out of the cargo hold's door, nearly colliding with his overly large and fuzzy companion as he goes.

The thick maned, muscular, and pronouncedly overweight Cathar engineer of the ship, Silgar Hymm pushes himself against a bulkhead to get out of Kelvin's way as the brown haired human rushes past him. Seeing what the source of the blaster fire was, Silgar runs a hand through his aged and silvered scalp and shouts after Kelvin in that accent with it's rolling r's, "You killed _another_ bunch of soldiers!"

Kelvin ignores the question and just shouts over his shoulder as he books it to the engine room, "Just prep the ship for an L-P Take-off!"

In mid stride, Kelvin puts the corporal's helmet over his head and leaps down the final stairway to the engine room. As expected, a voice comes over the built in radio asking why blaster fire was detected. Over the almost two decades since he's inherited the Jade Phoenix, Kelvin has had to try and answer this question a good number of times. The first few times he tried explaining it away as a "weapon malfunction," but it never worked. Now he uses the universal scapegoat, blaming the new guy.

Putting his helmeted head right next to a conducer on the ship's engines, Kelvin answers the radio hail. "Yeah, I got stuck with the new guy today. Some furry vermin jumped out and he overreacted, nearly blew off one of his toes."

"Your signal is pretty weak," comes the staticy response over the radio, caused by the power flow through the engine's conducer to mask the fact that Kelvin is just imitating the deceased corporal's voice. "There's no chemical spills or anything, is there?"

While a chemical spill would be a useful answer, it would only draw more attention. What was it that guy called smugglers…? "Nah, I'm pretty sure it's this ship's hull. You know how these 'Independent Transporters' are with their after market modifications."

"Yeah, they're slippery bastards." Kelvin is not sure if he should be flattered or insulted, but the voice on the other side continues on. "So how much longer are you going to take with the…Silver Typhoon?"

Kelvin smiles despite himself, as it's always a pleasure when his false IDs and rigged transponders hold up under scrutiny. "Another fifteen minutes or so. I want to make sure this guy is clean before I let him go. And waiting a little might improve his attitude some."

"Yeah," agrees the voice on the radio, "Always nice to remind these merchants who's in charge. I'll let you get back to the job. Out."

Taking the helmet off, Kelvin happily rubs at his carefully maintained stubble. Some folks in the business like looking clean, but Kelvin likes being a little scruffy looking. It let's clients know he's not above a little dirty work, like this job that the Strategic Information Service, the Republic's intelligence agency, signed him on to do. Kelvin has bought himself fifteen minutes, now he has to make the most of it.

Stepping out of the engine room, Kelvin sees Ferg approaching him. A teen from an Imperial conquered slum without a last name, Ferg made a real reputation for himself with his skill in weapon crafting and modifications. "Fragmentation Ferg" scored himself on his native world's most wanted list after he performed a few too many "experiments" on Imperial holdings. But since Kelvin was being hunted by the Imperials at the same time the two bumped into each other, as fugitives often run in the same circles. Kelvin has done nothing but profit from the encounter, as his one-shot one-kill blasters proved just minutes before.

"Don't tell me I missed all the fireworks," asks the lanky kid, still in his awkward stages.

"There's more to come, Ferg," says Kelvin happily. "We're going to need you to deploy that Tiny Wonder of yours. And after it's away, pull the radio from this helmet. When that's all done I'm gonna need your acting skills in the cockpit."

With a hoot of delight Ferg snatches the helmet and takes off to see to his orders. Kelvin catches a glimpse of Ferg through the corridors on his way to the cockpit fiddling with one of the tiny black rectangular droids you see scurrying around spaceports and stations. Kelvin had spent years wondering what those little things were, why no one paid attention to them, and why they were universally present in synthetic habitats. Turned out they're janitor aids, monitoring the filth on the floors and reporting any areas that need cleaning. After learning that, Kelvin tucked it away as a little bit of trivia. After Ferg learned that, he went about trying to weaponize them.

# # # # #

The two Imperial soldiers standing watch outside the entrance to the flight control tower are bored. Guard duty is always boring. You stand in one place, glare at people passing by, and wait for your shift to end. The only change from one day to the next are the faces of the people you glare at.

One of the guards yawns heavily, the action happily concealed by his head covering helmet. The other one wishes that he could scratch his nose, the action regrettably made impossible by his head covering helmet.

When the little janitor bot crosses their path, it's also completely mundane and monotonous. It wasn't until the better part of a minute had passed that one of the troopers realizes that no janitor bot had ever gone past them and into the control tower before, so he asks his companion a question. "Are those things allowed in here?" The companion answers with a shrug.

A few seconds later, the janitor bot makes a melodious jingle from the other side of the control tower's entryway.

Bleep – bleetle – bleep – bleep. Bleep – bleep.

And the following explosion is enough to devastate the foundations of the control tower, destroying it's power and data lines and taking out the two guards that had been standing nearby.

# # # # #

"Bingo!"

Ferg's shout can be heard through the bulkheads and Kelvin is sure of the drone's successful mission even before Ferg pops his head in to inform his captain. After giving his congratulations to the stupidly grinning kid, Kelvin punches a button on the comm. system and hails Silgar who is crawling around the ship's underbelly manually charging the capacitors for all the critical systems as part of the "Low-Presence Take-Off" system he invented when Kelvin's father was the captain of the Jade Phoenix.

"How you doing down there, old man? You a grease ball yet, or still a fuzz ball?"

"That line was only funny the first time you used it," comes Silgar's deep growl through the comm.

"I save my wit for the ladies," comes Kelvin's instant reply. "How long until we can take off."

"The Nav-Computer is online already, and I can have the other systems up in ten seconds notice."

"Good work. Wait for my signal."

Catching Ferg's attention, who had previously been using the trooper helmet as a drum thanks to the kid's over abundant energy, Kelvin gets him to be silent. It's been about a minute since the control tower was taken offline, so now should be a good time to pour some oil on the fire. Kelvin opens a frequency on the Imperial trooper's extracted radio headset, and then shouts into it.

"The station is under attack! Republic troopers are attacking the station through the spaceport! Secure all incoming ships, we need backup now!"

Kelvin then presses a button on one of the more recent additions to the Phoenix's cockpit, a soundboard that Ferg thought up just for fun that Kelvin took a liking to. The sound of a Republic trooper's standard issue blaster rifle rings out loud enough that Kelvin has to shout over it.

"I repeat, Republic troopers are attacking all levels of the spaceport we need-!"

And then Kelvin shatters the radio using a pistol butt as a hammer. Ferg has to bite a knuckle to keep from laughing and puts on the salvaged trooper helmet. Kelvin opens a universal frequency used by all transporters and merchants and begins whispering urgently into the sound receiver.

"Heads up guys, the Imperials are doing a full lock down. They're already on board my ship, shouting something about Republic troopers, and that they're impounding my cargo. They already shot one of my crew! Everyone, run while you-"

Ferg breaks into the scripted line, shouting through the Imperial helmet, his voice altered by its synthetic processing while pointing a ludicrously non threatening gun imitating finger. "What are you doing there? Get away from that comm. unit!"

Properly faking fear, Kelvin shouts, "No! I'm not doing anything! No, please don't shoot!" Kelvin slams the Imperial Rifle button on the sound board, and then cuts off the channel before the salvo of imaginary rounds finishes. Then Kelvin sits back and relaxes, the sound of his Krayt Dragon leather jacket creaking on the seat as Ferg hoots with laughter. Kelvin has enough time to start the nav-computer processing coordinates for a hyperspace jump before the laughing comes to an end.

Carelessly tossing the now useless helmet aside, Ferg drops himself into the co-pilot seat, and listens into the radio chatter between the transport captains and various merchants relating Imperial troopers storming the various levels of the spaceport, harassing people who are standing around in the open, and making demands on being told where the "Republic troopers" are. It takes less than a minute for the most nervous ship in the docks to start powering up and trying to make a run for it, with the ship quickly getting raided and impounded.

After that, the dam breaks and ships start powering up right and left, all of them looking to make a break for it.

"Say, captain," asks Ferg, "Is it really okay for us to get so many people into trouble just to make a get-away?"

Kelvin just gives the kid his best swashbuckler smile and says, "Any smuggler worth his salt won't give the Imps anything to get themselves jailed over. And besides, it'll mean less competition for jobs in the long run, so it's all to our advantage."

The kid gives a shrug as if he'll just take Kelvin's word for it as the ship's owner flicks on the comm. again to give his engineer the signal to power up the Phoenix. With a turn of a heavy lever inside one of the Phoenix's secret holds, eight shielded capacitors dump their stored up energy into all the critical systems on the ship, the bank of consoles lighting up like Christmas in the cockpit. Before any of the Imperials running around like headless chickens in the spaceport can react to the Jade Phoenix's engines kicking to life, the ship is floating on its repulsors and moving for the wide open exit with its atmosphere preservation field, passing through and into space.

The airspace around the station is filled with traffic lanes, incoming and outgoing, and the chaos of fleeing ships has the entire Imperial garrison of fighters out in force tracking down everyone they can. Some of the vessels have given themselves up, with a few bits of wreckage from one ship's failed escape, but the vast majority are booking hard and fast for the outer limits of the spaceport's gravity field to make the jump to Lightspeed. Hopefully the fighters are occupied enough for the Jade Phoenix to get by unchecked and lost in the crowd. It would be nice to hold onto this fake ID a little longer.

Checking the Nav-Computer, it seems the computations are almost done. Over ninty percent complete. Things are looking up.

"Attention, Silver Typhoon, power down and surrender, or we will open fire!"

The sound of the Imperial fighter pilot's warning comes at about the same time as the Target Lock warning light turns on. The Imperials already have missile lock.

"Ferg, Silgar, man the guns!"

Kelvin guns the throttle, the Phoenix taking off in a manner to do credit to her namesake, but it's not fast enough. The yellow warning lights turn red to indicate that the previously locked on missiles have been fired and are now tracking him. According to the radar, all three of the Imperial fighters on his tail got off what appear to be concussion missiles. While not as powerful as proton warheads, three of the things could very well destroy the Phoenix.

"Well, this is troublesome," says Kelvin to the air. There's no ship in space that can outrun a concussion missile. Their low mass and high powered thrusters can't be matched for speed, so not even the Jade Phoenix can out pace them. But she _can_ out fly them.

Yanking the flight controls, Kelvin pulls the Phoenix into a high speed rolling turn. The inertial dampeners are doing their duty as the only feedback from the maneuvers Kelvin is pulling are mild shifts in pressure from one side to another. A few seconds into a corkscrew climb leading him past a bulk freighter, Kelvin hears Ferg and Silgar calling out through the intercom that they're strapped in and ready to use the turbolasers on the top and bottom of the Phoenix. With orders to gun down the homing missiles, the two start tracking their targets.

The missiles are chasing tight on the Phoenix's tail and hard to shoot because of the angle of chase, being right behind the engine's slipstream and getting cover from the Phoenix's own hull. Gonna have to shake them off a little for the turrets to get a bead on 'em.

Turning the controls hard over, the Phoenix goes into a hairpin turn, killing her momentum but banking hard enough to get a little breathing room from the pursuing missiles that are specialized for speed and not maneuverability. In fact, one of the missiles tries to bank to sharply and gets caught in its on engine contrail, lighting the side on fire and detonating the warhead early and safely away from the Phoenix. That's one down.

Kelvin can hear the sounds of the turbolaser's fire echoing through the ship as he jukes the Phoenix back and forth to stay one step ahead of the missiles and give Ferg and Silgar clear shots. Around the fifth juke, one more missile drops off the radar and Kelvin hears Silgar's victorious "Ha-harr!" Two down.

Kelvin adjusts his turn to give Ferg an easier shot at the last missile, hearing an "Almost there" coming through the intercom connecting the turrets and the bridge. Then the raking fire from the Imperial fighters sears its way right in front of the Phoenix's flight path. Kelvin would have slapped himself if he didn't need both hand to fly the Phoenix, because in his hurry to shake off the missiles he forgot what direction he was traveling. Kelvin had been going right back towards the spaceport and the fighters he had shaken off in his first burst of speed!

Banking sharply to avoid being perforated by the fighters, Kelvin is forced to ruin Ferg's shot at the last moment, and pulls a hard turn. This turn ended up putting Kelvin on a head on collision course with another fleeing smuggler's freighter. Kelvin could actually feel his gut clench as he pivots the Phoenix to line the other freighter up with the flat underbelly of his ship, hoping to avoid smashing into the other without sacrificing speed. With a crunching jolt, the communications dish of the other freighter strikes the transparent paneling of the cockpit, blinding Kelvin's view for a moment as the freighters go past each other, mostly undamaged but for Silgar cussing loudly from the extremely close flyby passing right along his view, the tips of his turbolasers flashing sparks as they scrape the hull of the other vessel.

With a shuddering intake of air, Kelvin breaths again. And then the concussion missile hits. The entire ship jolts with the force of the blast and lights flicker. With a sideways glance, Kelvin sees that the shields are weakened but holding, and the hull is still sound. Another glance shows that the Phoenix is free of the planet Meraleek and her space station's gravity fields. A last glance shows that the Phoenix has enough breathing space to go to Lightspeed. Now that the high explosives have been taken care of one way or the other, Kelvin has the few seconds he needs to grab the heavy lever that controls the hyperdrive and give it a triumphant yanks.

The shuddering whine becomes a pathetic choking putt-putt-putt as the hyperdrive fails to initiate, the lever automatically stopping halfway down its gear's path. Looking around quickly, Kelvin frantically checks the systems that would cause the safety lock on the hyperdrive to initiate. Kinetic shielding is fine. The hyperdrive itself is working. Engines are optimal. Nav-computer processing at three percent complete.

"Damn it!"

The blast from the missile must have caused a power surge or something to disrupt the nav-computer. The old thing has been needing attention for a while, but Kelvin never thought the system would choose this moment to screw him over so badly. The computer is essential to faster than light travel, because without one the chances of being torn apart by gravity fields, asteroid belts, stars, or even black holes is very real.

Kelvin is brought back to the present by the fast paced striking of laser fire against the Phoenix's hull as the three Imperial fighter scream past. Kicking the engines back up to full, Kelvin peels off in a direction that will cause the currently banking flight of fighters to have to alter their course again, buying the Phoenix just this little bit of time. The engine warning light and an alarm start blaring, forcing Kelvin's attention onto it. The engine's coolant pressure is falling.

"Silgar, get to the engine!" shouts Kelvin into the intercom. "The Imps hit our coolant lines! I need them fixed before the Phoenix goes up in flames!"

"You're always so dramatic. I'm on my way."

Despite the Cathar's laid back reply, Kelvin can hear him moving for the engine room at a run. But running isn't going to fix matters fast enough, since the engine's temperature is rising already at the Phoenix's current speed. Cursing under his breath, Kelvin is forced to reduce throttle allowing the Imperial fighters to get back into shooting distance again. The fighters waste no time taking advantage of that fact.

With a constant stream of laser fire raining down, Kelvin is using every juke, dive, and bank in his library of flight patterns to keep from taking any hits. So far he's been successful, but it's not enough. The nav-computer is still only at 25% complete and those fighters will only get more accurate.

Finally, impressed by the relentless assault, Ferg says into the intercom, "Wow, these guys are really trying hard to kill us, Captain."

"Then kill 'em right back, Ferg!"

"Aye, aye!"

Given permission to fire on the Imperials, an automatic death sentence if captured, Ferg starts blaring away at the flight of fighters. Caught unaware, one goes down immediately and the other two bank off to dodge the Phoenix's now returning fire. As Ferg gives a voice cracking "Whoo-hoo!" Kelvin takes stock of his surroundings. The engine's temperature is just barely holding steady at this lowered speed, but that won't be enough to dodge the Imperials, let alone out run them. And it's going to be a few more minutes until the nav-computer is done with its jump processing. Kelvin has very few options at this point, surrender being none of them. He signed on to smuggle cargo for SIS, went so far as to gather all that grain to mask it, and Kelvin's not about to ruin his record of successes on a job like this. There are too many lives on the line, including his own. Kelvin is not about to deprive the universe of an ace pilot like himself.

The radar detects another flight of three Imperial fighters moving on an intercept course, called in to help deal with the Jade Phoenix and her resistance.

That does it. Kelvin can handle two fighters, but five is too much for any evasive action. Well, any normal evasive action.

With a sharp yank, the Phoenix pitches, rolls, and dives into the incoming traffic lane for the space station. All those dozens of ships stacked on top of each other in a nice orderly line, dozens more being added even as the Phoenix approaches because of the station going into lockdown. It's the perfect place to give those Imperials a little fox hunt.

Passing within ten meters of a massive freighter, Kelvin pulls back on the stick and drops his throttle a little more, pulling into a sharp U-turn and then sliding up ninety degrees to follow close to the freighter's underbelly, using it's bulk to hide from the fighters. But Kelvin doesn't stop moving, he knows there is no sense in hiding even before the two fighter flight passes by and starts tracking his movements.

"Let's see you follow me _here_, ya blue-balled pansies!"

With his unheard challenge, Kelvin ups the throttle again after having surveyed the field ahead of him. It's bad, but Kelvin can handle it. The increase in speed pushes Kelvin back into the chair slightly, but he doesn't feel it. Kelvin can't even see the console, he's so at one with his ship that he doesn't even need it anymore. Every vibration, every sound, every nut and bolt tells him everything he needs to know. The Phoenix is the other half of his soul, a bride twenty years in the making and he's treating her to a night out on the town. There _will_ be dancing.

The vibrating hum of the enormous freighter's engine as it passes over the cockpit is enough to break through even the vacuum of space, and the bombardment of energy from it's propulsion causes the Phoenix to shudder as she pulls up and into it's energy contrail. Not daring to move into that, the two fighter flight peals off, coordinating their movements with the second flight which is howling in from above to take their shots at the target. Quickly leveling the Phoenix out of her climb, Kelvin spins her axis to slip through another two long heavy cargo freighters, only meters of clearance on either side of the flat Phoenix's hull. Their chance at a clean shot denied, the three fighter flight peels off, tracking their prey like hounds running along the outskirts of a bramble they dare not dive into. And just like a pack of hounds they stay on the Phoenix's trail, following the craft's heading, waiting for their fox to run out of thickets to hide in.

The Imperials are ambitious and bloodthirsty, but Kelvin is cold and focused. Every time he passes by the cover of one vessel he has to instantly adjust his heading and alignment with the next set of freighters and smugglers in the line. But he doesn't adjust his speed, as Kelvin doesn't dare slow his momentum by a sliver. With his mouth dry and bitter, his pulse pounding so hard he feels it behind the eyes that dare not blink, Kelvin keeps his ongoing gamble up, keeping the stakes too high for the Imperials to dare try following him close enough to take a shot. At length, Kelvin hears Ferg's complaining voice but only registers it in the back of his mind. "Ah, cripes, Captain. You keep this up and I'm gonna puke!"

Over the intercom, Silgar's rough voice follows soon after the kid's, saying, "If you're gonna vomit, do it on yourself and not on my targeting systems, child! Kelvin! I've patched up the coolant leak, so you should be able to put the engine through her paces now!"

Kelvin hears the words, but he doesn't trust them until he fiddles with the thrust himself a little. And then he agrees with the verdict. The Jade Phoenix is dancing with _both_ her legs now.

With a blast of thrust, Kelvin pulls back on the stick going into an inverted climb right past a shocked Imperial fighter that breaks off from his run to re-gather his courage. Another fighter instantly changes course to try an intercept angle before the fast moving target can gain distance, but a burst of Ferg's turbolaser fire severs a wing and the fighter turns into a rolling fireball, putting the craft out of the fight.

With a flick of the eyes, Kelvin sees the words Calculation Complete on the nav-computer display and realizes it's now or never. Putting the thrust to maximum, the Jade Phoenix leaves her cover far behind and the regrouping Imperial fighters along with it.

Having put distance between the Phoenix and her pursuers once more, Kelvin gets ready for the big finish to this dance number and reaches for the Hyperdrive again. With a heavy pull, the stars blur and stretch into an almost blinding field of white as Kelvin is pushed back into his seat by the insanely great shift in speed and mass. Just as the field of white seems bright enough to force a man to squint, the Jade Phoenix is safely traveling at Lightspeed, and is going to fast for the light of the stars to be seen by the naked eye, the gentle blue glow of the protective envelope taking its place. And Kelvin finally begins breathing again, without even knowing when he stopped.

Falling back into his chair, the tension and concentration having drained him of all strength, Kelvin can only smile contentedly and say quietly, "We sure cut a rug tonight, didn't we babe?"

Ferg's excited cheer soon cuts in on the afterglow and both the kid and Silgar enter into the cockpit. After a quick status update on the engine, solid and expected to hold until they reach Coruscant, Kelvin gives his orders. "Alright, Ferg. Swap out our fake transmitter. Silgar, start digging out our real cargo, I want to make sure it hasn't suffered any. And be careful with the grain, I really do have a buyer for it. I'll join you in a minute."

Ferg dives for the console, rapping just the right parts to disengage the trick bulkhead and get immediate access to the transponder before smacking the side of his head and heading out to get his forgotten tools. Silgar heads out to get an empty cargo container to dump excavated grain into and a pair of shovels. Kelvin heads to his room for a shot of hard spirits and to wash his face to help him feel human again instead of feeling like a run down wind up toy.

With both Kelvin and Silgar digging into the grain, they quickly unearth the haul ropes, hook them to a portable pulley, and winch the long narrow crate they had been hiding at the bottom of the large wide grain crate clear of the chaff. With a swing and a catch, the two smugglers lower the precious cargo onto the floor plating, clear the securements, and open the air tight case. With a rush of pressure equalization, the container is open, and the comatose human male of over forty years of age is exposed to fresh air once again.

The built in rebreather is still operating, the drugs still have his life signs at minimal, and after the administration of a shot of the stimulant, he's wide awake once again and blinking hard against the light. Moving lazily, the informant gropes like he'd just awoke with a hangover, though that may not be far from the truth. With a slurred muttering, he asks Kelvin how things went.

Pointing with a thumb at the Imperial corpses on the hold's floor, Kelvin says, "Could have gone a lot smoother. The Imperials had some new series of scanning equipment. We passed the scanning types; minerals, metals, silicones, precious stone, and energy fields. But they somehow got a reading on you with the life scan. I had to get creative after that, so make sure your handler knows my price has gone up."

"I'll let him know," says the informer, who has not given even Kelvin a name to call him by. "And my family…?"

"We haven't pulled them out yet, but they should be fine. You can head to the galley to freshen up while you wait for us to dig 'em out."

"Thank you," says the informer as he gets onto his shaky feet. "I will do just that. Hopefully my handler will have our new identities ready by the time we reach Coruscant. My information will save a great many Republic lives, so I feel three new ones are a fair exchange."

Answering the informant's knowing smile with one of his own, Kelvin says, "I don't care to know about that sort of thing, fella. My involvement typically ends with the credit transfer."

The informant nods slowly. "Yes. It is typically smarter and safer to not get personally involved in matters like these. But working like that is not _nearly_ as interesting."

The old man's smile as he turned to leave the hold after dropping that wisdom bomb stuck with Kelvin, even after having dug out the wife and daughter and watched the happy family's reunion as the ship continues its flight. Kelvin watched that old man carefully. By all rights the spirit of adventure should have died out of a guy like that, who's obviously spent years chained down by a family and a desk job. Smiles like that should be impossible for him. A smile that's daring life to take a shot at him so he can dodge it, or living each moment to the fullest knowing you've got even more interesting times ahead.

A smile like the one Kelvin always has on his face when he's hard pressed flying the Jade Phoenix.

But Kelvin doesn't smile like that at any other time. He's a professional smuggler. But that term, "Independent Transporter," seems nice too. Kelvin will probably use it in the future.

It's Kelvin's job to not ask questions, to just go for the goal and leave the rest to other people. It's safer that way. But flying the Jade Phoenix is only really fun when there's danger involved, and the risk of disaster should he make a mistake.

At great length, Kelvin decides that the old man was right. Safety is boring. And by the time the Jade Phoenix lands on Coruscant under the protection of another fake transponder to offload the grain and deliver the informant's family, Kelvin has already made up his mind.

"Here's the bill for this last job," Kelvin says handing a datapad to the aged and longcoat wearing contact that goes by the name "Mr. Boots." "And at the bottom you'll see my retainer for waiting until the next one."

"Your what?" asks the young woman wearing a similar longcoat that is always beside Mr. Boots. Unlike the completely unremarkable and forgettable contact, this woman who acts as his assistant is quite eye catching with her perfect mix of tanned skin, dark hair, and piercingly black eyes.

"I figure that whatever you learn from your man, you're going to need transport again real soon. I want in."

"It will be far more dangerous than this last mission," comes Mr. Boot's monotone statement.

"Well, I've decided to try living dangerously for a while. Seems far more interesting."

Kelvin's smile is that of a hungry animal that has been given a bite of a tasty meal, and waiting to pounce on the rest of it. A look that Mr. Boots likes very much, enough for him to lift a corner of his mouth in a smile that is rarely seen from the man. "Then we will be contacting you shortly with details. Your unique talents will come in handy."

Before Mr. Boots could finish turning to leave, Kelvin stops him. "While we're chatting, I need to tell you now. We're going to need a Slicer. This last job nearly fell apart because I couldn't get out of a random security scan. If we had had someone that could have altered the Imperial databanks to make them think we'd been scanned already we would have gotten away with a much lower profile."

"I thought it was because you failed to account for the scanner," accuses the young lady.

"Hard to be prepared for prototypes, ma'am," says Kelvin with more manners than the comment deserved. "But Silgar is working on reverse engineering their technology and coming up with a way to cheat the Imperial's new tech."

"I agree with your idea," says Mr. Boots, not showing any sign that he actually means what he is saying. "Since you'll be working more closely with us, I do not mind loaning you a Slicer. My best in fact. Ms. Long, you will be joining Mr. Riggs' crew." Before Mr. Boots' assistant can voice her indignance, the man continues with an emphatic, "Effective immediately."

Giving up the fight before she even tries to argue her point, she mutters that she will gather her things. With the lady gone, Kelvin asks how good the gal _really_ is. Mr. Boots' response is without any apparent pride. "She is the one that crafted all those transponders you have so often complimented. She is the best that I have available to me. And she just so happens to be a person I can trust. You will not regret having her aboard your vessel."

With a departing handshake, Kelvin heads into the Jade Phoenix to get the cabins ready for a new member of the crew. Ms. Long arrives shortly, deposits her belongings, and Kelvin gives her a tour of the ship.

"An…interesting vessel you have here…"

"I certainly hope not, interesting ships always get spotted by security!" cries Kelvin in reply to the strained attempt at amicability.

Kelvin's joke fails to please however, as the code-named young woman seems determined to be unhappy at her current fate and stays silent for the rest of the tour. After returning Ms. Long to the door to her quarters, Kelvin says, "You know, you have a very nice name. It really speaks to me."

"Really? What does it say?" asks Ms. Long uninterestedly.

With his patented winning smile, Kelvin says, "It tells me that there is no _Mister_ Long, yet."

Giving Kelvin a hard, surprised look, Ms. Long steps inside her quarters, and closes the door without a word. After a few seconds, Kelvin steps away from the doorway with a huge grin on his face. Aside from being pretty, that girl has a fiery independence that Kelvin really takes a liking to, man or woman. And even though she's going to be a business contact from here on, she'll be living on the same ship as him. And Kelvin does like a challenge. Besides, mixing business and pleasure sounds dangerous enough to be quite interesting.

Walking down the corridor of the Jade Phoenix, Kelvin doesn't even realize he's already wearing a smile that's looking forward to the dangers tomorrow will bring.


	2. The Cantina Standoff

**Chapter 2 – The Cantina Standoff**

The neon lights of the mega-slums of Nar Shaddaa blink in rhythmic pulses that can blind even a Miralukan, lights visible even inside the cantina named The Jewel Hunter. The swiftly trilling tones of the live band accompanies the dancing of scantily clad entertainers standing on podiums scattered around the cantina. Most of the dancers are either enslaved Twi'lek women, or free ones that don't want any better jobs, but there is a human woman or two on the payroll, and a strappingly buff Zabrak man dancing in the far corner for the female customers, and the occasional male that's into that sort of thing.

In the dark atmosphere punctuated by the flashing neon a brown haired and stubble bearded man by the name of Kelvin Riggs sits in a booth seat with a good view of the bar island occupying the center of the cantina, and of Ms. Long, his client and temporary crewmate. The tan woman with raven black hair is languishing at the bar in suitable attire for a woman fishing for compliments, disinterestedly having a conversation with a stranger that had sat down next to her. Well, a stranger in the fact that the two had never met in person before, but the unidentified man is a contact the code named woman from Republic Intelligence had made long ago, and called in to gather some more information on the mission Kelvin had been hired to take part in.

And Kelvin has absolutely no idea what that mission is. As such, he is wasting his time away as "back up" just in case something happens. But since nothing has happened yet on this entire job, the only thing Kelvin is actively doing is feeling bored, despite Mr. Boots' promise of the danger associated with the job. Well, at least the liquor is helping to fix that boredom, just a little.

Just as Kelvin was about to order his third drink of the night from a wandering waitress, Ms. Long gives her signal in the form of conspicuously flipping her hair and rubbing the back of her neck as if to work on a stiff muscle. Kelvin gives the return signal, flipping up the collar of his krayt dragon leather long coat, and then smoothing it out. The signals mean that after Ms. Long shoots down the next man to come hit on her, he's suppose to approach her, make a pass, and leave together with her. Shouldn't be long, she's turned away three men in the last hour.

As the shadow of a waitress stopping by Kelvin falls over his shoulder, he offhandedly turns down the imminent suggestion of another drink by saying, "I don't need anything right now. I'm fine."

"I would hardly say you're doing fine, Kelvin."

The voice is strong, commanding, very feminine, and very familiar. Kelvin makes sure not to make any sudden movements as he looks over his right shoulder where his one time employer, a Rattataki bounty hunter named Voroia Nadjassi, is standing. But what Kelvin sees staring him in the face is the barrel of a blaster.

"Hello, Voroia. You're looking well."

"Hello, Kelvin," says the heavily armored bounty hunter, equally casual, as she slides into the booth seat opposite Kelvin. "You're looking good too, for a man with an Imperial death mark on his shoulders."

Kelvin had been half hoping this was just a warm hearted prank, but Voroia has just confirmed his fears. He has a price on his head. "So, what'd I supposedly do to earn the Imp's attention? I've always been squeaky clean."

Voroia giggles melodically at the poor joke, enjoying the personal contact on a job that has so few pleasantries, the laugh being engaging and unnerving at the same time. It's during this time that Kelvin looks Voroia's new equipment over. In the year since he'd helped her escape a trap on a backwater mining colony her mark had set for her, destroying her personal spaceship in the process, she's gotten some better hardware. A subdued design and color scheme meant for use in major cities, Voroia's grey armor with black mesh is sturdy to the point of looking like it belongs to a shock trooper. The breastplate is angled to deflect and reduce the impact of any blaster bolt taken, and the interlaced plates covering her belly seem solid enough to take a direct hit from a blaster. The shoulders curve and dip sharply to cover the most of the ball and joint socket with the least metal and no protruding parts. The plating on the gauntlets is thick, and the leg guards should be even more sturdy if Kelvin knows Voroia's tastes in personal protection. And Voroia is wearing a close fitting helmet over her pale head, the left eye covered by a green data screen and the right eye left open to the air with nothing covering the mouth to interfere with polite chat. From the looks of the seams, those open parts can probably be closed mechanically, showing a mix of Voroia's sense of style and functionality.

Kelvin doesn't need to see under the helmet to remember Voroia's cultural tattoos. Her eyelids and lips are both pure black, looking like makeup and lipstick to the unenlightened observer, with a pair of long triangles pointing straight down from just under the pale grey eyes, filled with bemused interest. And on the back of her head would be a lattice of two sets of interconnected diagonal lines, the top points of which having twin pronged barbs.

Voroia also seems to have upgraded the gadgets she carried, there being a larger selection of buttons on her left wrist than there had been before. And following the view from the left arm over to the right, Kelvin cannot help but notice the skin tight mesh of the armor, showing the fairly slender but powerful arms, reinforced by the Rattataki high density muscle fiber and constant training. Finally, Kelvin reaches the most important part of the inspection, the high powered and large barreled pistol that Voroia is pointing directly at his chest. Even with the durasteel meshing inside the durable krayt dragon leather coat, a point blank shot from that would punch through Kelvin like an arrow through paper.

This all adds up to leaving very few options open to Kelvin.

"You don't leave a trail, Kelvin," says Voroia mildly, "But we both know you're not clean. And please keep your hands where I can see them. I'd rather not shoot you."

Voroia is one of the few in the business of man hunting that follows a warrior's code. She doesn't get anyone involved in her business and tries to leave civilians out of matters, but she has no mercy for anyone that gets in her way. A true Rattataki warrior. Knowing this, Kelvin doesn't give her a reason to pull the trigger and moves his hands slowly into view, laying them on the table, one hand casually folded over the other.

"Is it okay if I enjoy my drink?"

With the hint of a smile, Voroia denies the request, stating that she doesn't want Kelvin to be holding anything that can be thrown. Well, Voroia _is_ pragmatic. But there are a few things nagging at the back of Kelvin's mind, questions he wants answered while Voroia's in a chatty mood.

"Even though I'm sure there's been a mistake, I'll bite. What did I supposedly do to irk the Empire?"

"Oh, Kelvin, playing games? Well, I suppose you deserve to know." With a slight sigh of disappointment, Voroia begins telling Kelvin what he already knows. "Last month the spaceport above Meraleek was bombed and thrown into confusion by a set of false reports over secure channels, culminating in the destruction of Imperial property. They're paying top dollar for the perpetrator."

Voroia knows about the event, but that still doesn't answer the question, why the bounty on _Kelvin's_ head. "Well, that's interesting. But what makes you think I had anything to do with something like that?"

"Because the one that caused the disturbance owned a ship like yours, used a fake transponder to falsify his identity, and flew like a stunt pilot," says Voroia, her full lips twisting into a good natured smirk. "The ship, fake transponders, explosives, disinformation, and most of all the piloting skills. That's you to a T, Kelvin. Or did you forget how you smuggled me out of the Charok mining colony?"

Kelvin's smile is forced at this point. This is the worst possible explanation for the bounty, but Kelvin can't pursue this line of conversation any further, not while he's powerless.

"Sounds like an impressive man, the one you're hunting. If you're so sure I'm him, why are you talking to me? You could have knocked me out without saying a word."

"Actually, I could have killed you without you even knowing I was here, Kelvin," corrects Voroia with an unsettling lack of menace in her words. "But even though the bounty pays the same dead as it does alive, I consider you a friend."

"Just a friend?"

"Don't get greedy, Kelvin," says Voroia, not unkindly despite the blaster in her hand, "A bounty hunter counts their friends on one hand, I hope you take it as the compliment it is. And since you _are_ a friend, I wanted to give you a fair chance."

His heart finally back in the conversation, Kelvin grins winningly. "I never thought I'd see you getting sentimental, Voroia. What kind of 'fair chance' are you gonna be giving me?"

Arching her eyebrows and speaking more serenely, Voroia delivers her offer. "I'm going to give you the chance to buy your life, Kelvin. The bounty on your head stands at eighty thousand credits."

Kelvin Interrupts with a whistle. "That's a lotta creds."

"Indeed. You really made someone angry, Kelvin. So they hired me, and even gave me an advance up front to take on the job. Enough credits for me to finally get a replacement ship. Which is why I can't afford to walk away empty handed, Kelvin. So either _you_ pay me, or the client does."

Kelvin is actually amazed by this ultimatum. "Wait a second, Voroia, you're saying you'd risk your reputation as a man hunter on me? I really must say, I'm touched."

"You saved my life back on Charok, Kelvin. I never forget my debts, good or bad, but this is a one time offer. Eighty thousand and you walk free, or I bring you in. The hard way if I have to."

"As much as I appreciate your offer, I have just one problem with it. The amount."

"Too much for you, Kelvin? Well, I'm afraid it's non-negotiable."

"Oh, no, no," says Kelvin gently, "You see, I'm afraid my life is worth _far_ more than eighty thousand credits. I'd say it's worth…"

Kelvin presses the button on the slim oblong box he'd successfully slipped from his jacket's sleeve and into his right hand, keeping pressure on it even as he slowly lifts both hands in the motion of surrender, the box beeping a slow rhythm. "Every life in this cantina put together."

The look in Kelvin's eyes have shifted from those of a laid back man enjoying a drink with a friend to someone ready to kill on principle. Voroia's eyes and tone shift appropriately as well. Business negations are over, and she is now potentially in a hostage situation judging by what Kelvin just said.

"What is that you're holding, Kelvin?"

"Just a little something I had Ferg whip up for a rainy day. It's a radiation bomb set to a dead man switch, so if this little button isn't held down at all times it'll go off after five or so seconds, unless the button is pressed down again. It spreads a high yield radioactive isotope that, from what I understand from Ferg, penetrates armor and stone, going straight into the bones. According to Ferg, there's no cure and the longest you can last with high tech treatment is three years, all of it agonizing. And this entire cantina, and everyone in it, is in range."

"You're bluffing," says Voroia with a smile. "There's no way something that small can do what you say."

"You ever see the core of a mass yield warhead?" asks Kelvin, deadly serious. "It's the size of a fist, and just one can level a metropolis. Don't judge these things by their size, Voroia. I'd hate to see your life cut short."

Serious again, Voroia asks, "If you hate the idea, why bring that out? It'll kill you just the same as me."

"Because I refuse to be a prisoner, Voroia," says Kelvin, his eyes unwavering in their gaze. "Even if the Imps don't execute me out of hand the instant you turn me over to them, they'll either imprison me or put me in a labor camp. I'd spend the rest of my life staring at stone walls, and I can't live without the sky, Voroia. I'd rather die first. And with this handy little gadget, not only would I last only a month in custody, but I'd be taking my captor down with me. So it all works out."

Finally convinced by Kelvin's sincerity, Voroia is obviously trying to quickly think of a way to dispose of the dirty bomb without letting Kelvin get away when the smuggler smirks again and says, "There is a way to disarm the bomb, Voroia. But I'm the only one that knows how."

Voroia doesn't say anything as naïve as "Then why don't you?" Instead she glowers at Kelvin a few moments before overcoming her pride and asking, "And what are your conditions for disarming it?"

"Oh, _I'm_ not going to disarm it," says Kelvin, as lightly as if he was trying to talk his way out of cleaning some dishes. "Right now we're negotiating for the _knowledge_ of how to disarm this thing. That's what you really need, Voroia."

"Why's that? You're the one holding the bomb."

"Well, as long as I'm the only one that knows how to disarm this thing you can't really deal with it. You have no way of disposing of it quick enough to not kill yourself, and there's no way you can risk having this thing active for any prolonged period of time. And you also can't chance my suddenly changing my mind on self-preservation, cause that would obviously just be a clever ruse of mine to get away from you. No Voroia, what you want is the knowledge to open up your choices on how to deal with this and with me, and that will cost you."

Thinking for a long moment, Voroia finally asks, "What would you want?"

"Well, first, I'd want you to- catch!"

Tossing the dirty bomb without any wind up, using the single word as a warning, Kelvin jerks his hand to lightly throw the bomb towards Voroia's left side. Reacting to the movement and the word, Voroia nabs the dirty bomb in mid air with her left hand and quickly rights it to press the button on the device as it beeps more rapidly. As Voroia desperately, and reactively, performs this act of self-preservation, Kelvin performs one of his own. He used the momentary distraction to quick draw his pistol and is now pointing it at Voroia's face, just like how she's pointing one at Kelvin's.

"Well, now that we're on equal footing, we can finally get to some real negotiations."

Voroia glowers at Kelvin, angry at getting played like she did, but as a professional she remains calm and waits for Kelvin to get over his gloating before she is willing to say anything. And knowing Kelvin, that may take a while, but he's right. Both of their pistols can penetrate at the current range, and now Voroia's left arm and all her hidden weapons within it are occupied with keeping the dirty bomb from going off. The two of them are silently looking at each other, and Kelvin still has the smirk on his face when the waitress comes up to the table to ask if Kelvin would like another order before finally seeing the blasters with a start.

Without turning his head to look at the yellow skinned Twi'lek woman in the skimpy dancer's garment, Kelvin tells her to "Go ahead and bring the check." The woman hesitates, obviously worried about turning her back on a pair of blasters, until Voroia harshly says, "You heard the man. Get your twin tailed ass in gear."

"You know Voroia, what with our trying to kill each other in public like this, I dare say we look like an old married couple."

"Cute."

"I prefer 'handsome.' But anyway, I'd like to suggest we both put our guns on the table and continue the negotiations. Once I've gotten what I want I'll tell you how to disarm the bomb, and then we can go back to trying to kill each other properly, with a quick draw. Skill against skill, Voroia, as a real fight should be."

"You expect me to trust a man that pulls a dirty bomb out of his sleeve like a street performer?"

"I expect you to trust the word of one of your friends, Voroia," says Kelvin, putting sincerity into his promise. "Until our conversation comes to a close, I won't go for the blaster, not unless you make your move first."

Voroia studies Kelvin for a few moments before agreeing to the idea. The next full minute is incredibly tense for both parties, and both of them slowly lower their weapons without actually pointing them away from their targets. With both blasters still pointed at each other's chests, both duelists turn their grips sideways and gently place the blasters on the table. And _then_ they remove their fingers from the triggers. The entire maneuver is complete once both parties lightly bring their hands to rest on the surface of the table, centimeters from the grip of their pistols.

With the momentary release of tension filling her voice, Voroia finally asks Kelvin again, what does he want?

"Information and conversation, Voroia, without any trade secrets getting in the way. Both our lives probably depend on it, even without the little wonder in your left hand. Who did you get the contract on my head from, and are you the only one it was given to?"

"You really expect me to-"

"Don't. I'm not lying Voroia. Both our lives are riding on you being honest with me, in more ways than one."

After studying Kelvin for a few moments and asking what the question was again, Voroia tells Kelvin honestly how she got the job. "My intermediary, another of my few friends, got the job through the underworld as an exclusive contract. After tracing it back to the source he said the offer came from the executive officer's office of Meraleek's garrison. Not surprising considering the black eye you gave them."

"And your ship, you got it new after accepting the job. New armor, better weapons, _and_ a new ship in one year? Either you won the galactic lottery or you found one hell of a coupon."

"The client included an offer to sell an impounded ship before it was placed on auction to speed my hunt. Illegal, but not a surprise considering this is the Empire we're talking about. It's not a very big ship, but it's a solidly repurposed bounty hunter's craft, complete with a fairly comfy cell for live prisoners."

"The job is fake, Voroia. They're planning to kill you."

"What?" For the first time, surprise and actual amusement enters Voroia's voice since she sat down.

"The first thing you learn in the 'transporting' business is that if an offer is too generous, then the client is going to stab you in the back. And if you don't learn it, you end up dead."

"Considering what you did at Meraleek, Kelvin, I would hardly call the offer too generous. It's about right for a wrathful Imperial in charge of a planet."

"It's not just the creds and the ship, Voroia, it's the fact that they know who was responsible for what happened on that space station."

With a chuckle, Voroia says, "So you're finally admitting that it was you?"

"No, Voroia, it was Captain Sert that wreaked so much destruction. And that fake ID held up under scrutiny even as the Silver Typhoon blasted Imperial fighters to scrap while making its get away amongst three dozen other smugglers, all at the same time. The control tower was destroyed before the dog fighting broke out, Voroia. So how would they be able to single out the Silver Typhoon as using a fake transponder?"

"Look, Kelvin, I'm a man hunter, not a slicer. I don't know about computers."

"And that's another thing, how'd you find me so fast. I haven't used my real ID in three months, so there's no way you could have found me so quickly. You're good Voroia, but you're not that good."

"The client said he had information you went to Coruscant after the bust out, so I started there."

"Back to the client, huh?"

"Information from the employer isn't uncommon, Kelvin."

"Except when I take care to sweep my ship for tracing devices while I'm in hyperspace and file fake flight records whenever I'm working for SIS. And I never said the word Coruscant _once_ while I was on Meraleek."

"SIS? You're a damn spy?" hisses Voroia in surprise, trying not to let anyone around hear.

"Do I seem the type to join up with any organized group? I'm an independent transporter, Voroia, one that specializes in getting people from one planet to another without anyone knowing they were ever there, you included. So you can see why I take pride in my ability to disappear."

"I still fail to see how _your_ 'secret activities' have put _me_ at risk."

"Because I only use the fake transponders when I'm working for the Republic, and I have to submit a report to them on my activities during the length of my employment per job. Including the people I talk to, or business I pick up while moonlighting."

Voroia's eyes widen in surprise as she reflexively says, "You don't mean…"

"That's right, love. You're a known associate to the wanted criminal, Kelvin Riggs."

"And you're saying _that's_ why I was hired to track you? Because the Imperials know I'm one of your 'associates?'"

"No, Voroia. I'm saying you weren't hired by the Empire at all." Kelvin continues on after Voroia's surprised "What?" in a calm explanation, both sides having all but forgotten their pistols on the table top. "I'm damn good, Voroia. No one in the Empire knows who I am or what I do for certain. And my Republic contact only uses fake names for me since he's paranoid even among cloak and dagger types. But my reports still go out for other people to read. Reports that include emergency measures for escapes, aliases and false transponder names, locations traveled to, and of course, the side business you hired me for on Charok. There's no way some stiff necked politician on a small world like Meraleek would know that kind of information. Voroia, you were hired by Republic Intelligence to hunt down the location of a Republic Transporter, and the agent he's carrying."

"The paper trail led to the Imperials, Kelvin."

"I've worked closely with Slicers before, Voroia. You wouldn't believe the stuff they can do with computers. I saw a man alter an archive to make a warlord believe his son was embezzling hundreds of thousands of credits from his gun trafficking business. The following bloodbath was actually quite impressive."

"Huh," says Voroia, not impressed at all, "Dysfunctional families aside, my contact is a skilled Slicer. If there was something funny about the trail, he'd know."

"Computers aren't the only things that can be compromised, Voroia," says Kelvin meaningfully. "Bounty hunters count their friends on one hand for a reason, right?"

In the meaningful silence that follows, the Twi'lek waitress finally comes back with the bill, somewhat relieved that her clients aren't dead or waving their blasters around any more. The look on her face still says she would prefer the booth emptied quickly. Kelvin and Voroia both don't see the waitress' face though, as they are intent on maintaining eye contact, Voroia deep in thought.

"Alright Kelvin, I'll look into things. If they aren't what they appear to be then I'll let you go free instead of turning you over to the Imperials. But for the life of me, I don't know why the Republic would put a bounty on one of their own."

Kelvin easily goes into a list of reasons he's learned from his time smuggling anything and everything. "Jealousy, sabotaging a competitor, personal grudge against an agent, the good old fashioned conflict of loyalties caused by greed, bribery, blackmail, or the guilty party may have been a mole the entire time. But you're still talking like you intend to capture me."

"I'm a bounty hunter, Kelvin, it's what I do. You'll be coming with me until I decide otherwise. I'll even give you a ride back to Nar Shaddaa if things fall through."

Kelvin chuckles. "I'm not going anywhere _with you_, Voroia. Least of all in your ship."

"I told you before, Kelvin, the cell is fairly comfy. And I'll even let you stay conscious and uninjured while we travel."

"Voroia, were you not listening when I described the intricate set up to put you, the only bounty hunter who knows my methods, onto my trail? Your ship is a part of the set up, and one will get you twenty that your employer set that thing to have a catastrophic failure once you confirm that you've caught me. A real easy way to save thousands of credits."

Voroia contemplates Kelvin for a few moments through squinted eyes before saying, "You know what the real beauty of this whole story you've come up with is, Kelvin? You can't prove a bit of it, and I can't disprove any of it. I'm willing to trust that you believe what you're saying, but the long and short of it is that I've got a contract to fulfill. This is your last chance to pay me to look the other way, Kelvin. Eighty thousand."

"You're still saying that with my bomb in your hand?"

"I'll find a way to deal with this thing even if you don't help me with it, Kelvin. You said it yourself, I'm damn good."

With a sigh, Kelvin says, "I suppose that's it then. Well, since you answered me honestly, I'll tell you how to disarm the bomb, and then we'll have our little quick draw." Kelvin flexes his right hand, one of his knuckles cracking audibly.

"You're certain you want to do this, Kelvin? It'd be a shame to lose one of my few friends." While Voroia means kindly with her words, the tone is as cold as ice. Kelvin's response is equally cold. "Like I said before, I'd rather die than lose my freedom."

Both of their hands creep slightly closer to their pistols, and each looks the other intently in the eyes and face, just waiting for a twitch to indicate who'll draw first, even as Kelvin begins to explain the defusing process. "Release the button, and then press it quickly three times in a row, hold for-"

The blaster shot startles all the customers in the area, but the live band continues playing their trilling melody, completely unaware of the shooting. The steaming body flops onto the table where Kelvin's pistol is still sitting untouched, while Voroia's pistol is firmly held in the victor's hand.

"You know, even with all your skill, I bet you didn't see that one coming."

"Urgh… Cheating… bas…tard…" Voroia struggles to mutter her insult through the pain of her gut shot, her right hand pressing against the wound reflexively. As Kelvin lightly places Voroia's heavy pistol on the seat beside him with his right hand, he also slowly lifts his second pistol up from under the table with his left hand, the barrel still trailing vaporized ozone.

"Oh, please," says Kelvin, not ashamed of himself at all. "You of all people should have expected me to be underhanded. But seriously, you have to be just a little impressed. I mean, not only was I able to distract and delay you long enough for me to get my second blaster into position, but I had your attention on so many things at once that I made you forget I even_ had_ the second pistol. Besides, I didn't cheat you, baby face. I just didn't tell you that our duel wasn't a shooting match, it was a battle of wits."

Voroia masters her pain long enough to press the button for the medical-stim injector on her left arm's control pad, aware that she was allowed to do so by how Kelvin watched her make the move with careful consideration and his pistol leveled at her face. Funny how the roles have reversed. In disbelieving resignation, Voroia repeats Kelvin's words. "You 'distracted' me. So everything you told me, about you working as a spy, my being hired by the Republic, about my contact and my ship… It was all just a bunch of lies to get me off my guard."

Slowly sliding his right pistol into its holster, Kelvin corrects Voroia. "Not at all. Everything I told you during our 'negotiations' is true, Voroia. I'm pretty sure your fake client is going to try and off you. I just wanted to give you fair warning is all."

Voroia laughs, and then winces. "The guy that just shot me is saying he cares about my safety? Please don't make me laugh any more, Kelvin, I've already got a split side."

The corner of Kelvin's mouth twitches up, almost forming into a smile. "I could tell that armor of yours would hold up to a shot from a blaster pistol, even one of mine. I was reasonably certain you'd survive."

"Reasonably certain," echoes Voroia, not convinced.

"And I'm hoping you'll finally start taking my advice. You should disappear for a while. Get rid of that new ship and fall off the radar. You've got a target on your back now, just like me. That's my professional and personal opinion, mind you, and I'll be taking my own advice. When I walk out of here I'm going to jump right on erasing my existence."

"You think I'm going to let you leave?"

Kelvin's left eyebrow cocks up at this. "You think you have a way of stopping me?"

"Did you really forget about your own rad-bomb, Kelvin?" Voroia lifts her left hand a little to show the beeping oblong device, her thumb still firm on the dead man switch. "Give yourself up to me now, or I let it go off."

Kelvin is actually stunned by the declaration. "You're so intent on winning that you'd kill you and me both? Even though I was planning to just walk away?"

Voroia just stares Kelvin in the eyes as her reply.

"You'd kill everyone in this cantina just to claim your bounty? I thought you didn't get civilians involved in your work."

"You're the one that got them involved, Kelvin. And it's your decision that will decide their fates. You coming with me quietly?"

With a sober face, Kelvin asks, "Why would you do that, Voroia? You could always just track me down again after your gut wound has healed up. Is it the money? You can't spend it if you're dead, you know."

"This is about my _pride_, Kelvin," says Voroia adamantly. "I'm not about to let a target walk away after making a fool of me."

"And that's worth your life?"

"You have your Freedom, Kelvin. I have my Pride."

Kelvin studies Voroia until he makes his decision. "Go ahead. I won't stop you. Release that button if you have the guts."

Instead of being surprised to have her challenge met, Voroia unhesitatingly releases the button on the dirty bomb. The beeping starts to speed noticeably as Kelvin and Voroia stare each other down like they did when they were preparing for a quick draw to the death. A challenge with a hundred lives on the line. The beeping speeds faster, like the pulse monitor on a person going into shock, and neither set of eyes blink or show a sign of hesitation in this game of chicken. And with one final faint bleep, a click, and a jerk that Voroia could feel through to her gauntleted hand, the beeping ends.

"So I guess that's it," says Voroia. "Have a good life, all three months of it on the run. I'll at least have the luxury of getting treatment as I chase you. I'll get my bounty one way or another, and your bounty is dead or alive. In the end, I have the last laugh."

Kelvin's stern face splits into a smile and he laughs like Voroia just told a dirty joke. "You seriously think I'd carry anything radioactive on me, Voroia? I may be ballsy, but I'm not stupid!"

The quick change leaves Voroia, who thought she'd just all but ended her own life, off guard as all she can say is, "What?"

"That's just a sound box I had Ferg make up for me. It's played the part of a tracking device, a remote detonator, a missile target lock, and now a radiation bomb. You're not the first that's fallen for it, Voroia, so don't feel too bad."

Still bent forward from the pain of a wound that, even with kolto treatment, will take days to heal, Voroia stares at Kelvin goggle eyed. The number of steps ahead that Kelvin has thought is staggering, and every single action of his had been a bluff even past his victory over his competitor. The awe is short lived though as Voroia drops the sound box and moves to press the button to fire her carbonite spray to freeze Kelvin long enough to take possession of him, now that her left hand is no longer contained by a radioactive explosive. Before her right hand can travel the distance, Kelvin has Voroia's helmeted head gripped and slams it onto the table top, placing the barrel of his pistol against the armored temple. Voroia's uncovered eye looks up at Kelvin in defiance as some coils in the pistol audibly charge.

"Well, Voroia," says Kelvin in a deadly serious tone. "I know that if I just walk away, you'll come after me straight away, wound or no wound. I can't let you do that."

Voroia just stares Kelvin in the eye, as saying anything right now would be an admission of defeat.

"For what it's worth, my advice was given in earnest. I had hoped we could both walk away unscathed."

"Don't kid yourself," says Voroia, suddenly feeling the need to come clean. "No matter how much either of us lied to ourselves and tried to change things, we both knew there could only be one outcome to this. Only one of us would walk away."

"No, Voroia. I only made my decision a moment ago, when you showed you were willing to kill a hundred people to take me out. At this range, not even _your_ armor will stand up to my pistol."

Kelvin doesn't give Voroia a chance at having any final words, or of trying to turn the tables once again. He just pulls the trigger, and the Rattataki woman's head bounces slightly from the impact. She loses consciousness immediately, which is a blessing. Kelvin nonchalantly downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, stands up from the table slowly, and deposits Voroia's heavy pistol in her lap. Then Kelvin gently lifts Voroia's head, vapor rising slowly from the energy transfer at the point of impact, and slides the check for his drinks under it. Turning his back, Kelvin walks away and out the cantina, scratching lightly behind his left ear to give Ms. Long the signal that his cover was blown and that they're falling back on the secondary plan for meeting up.

Hours later, in a blind alley that crisscrosses into a maze where the exits can't be watched by anything short of an army, Kelvin meets with Ms. Long who's wearing a different set of clothing than the one she wore in the cantina. At her insistent demand to know what had happened, Kelvin gives her a detailed recap of events while they walk. After he finishes the story, Kelvin asks her, "Well, what do you think?"

After a few moments of silence, Ms. Long says, "I think you're right. Even if Imperial Intelligence had gathered that much intel on us, they don't make a habit of pointing the finger at people in their structure that are not important enough to discredit, and none of the people in charge of Meraleek are worth the effort. The bounty almost certainly originated from inside SIS."

"My thoughts exactly," says Kelvin as he gingerly steps to avoid a puddle he's certain he doesn't want to step in.

"It's too bad that bounty hunter didn't listen to you, but then that's to be expected from their kind. A blood simple lot. I'm sorry you had to kill her, though. It seems you two had some history together."

"What makes you think she's dead?" asks Kelvin as if Ms. Long had just declared that the color red does not exist.

Stopping her gait, Ms. Long responds as if Kelvin had just asked what the color blue tastes like. "You shot her in the head."

"I set my pistol to stun. She'll have a headache on top of the burnt stomach, but she'll be otherwise fine when she wakes up."

Both flabbergasted and outraged, the only reason Ms. Long's voice isn't a shout is because she is trying to make sure no one can follow them. "Why on earth would you not kill a bounty hunter aiming for your life? One that's willing to commit an act of _terrorism_ just to kill you? You two may have had a history together, but that's not nearly good enough to justify you putting the lives of everyone on the Jade Phoenix at risk, let alone our mission! What in the name of the Force made you decide to let a gun toting _psycho_ go free after humiliating her like that?"

"Tell you what," says Kelvin with a smirk, purposely ignoring Ms. Long's bad mood. "Put on that dress you wore at the bar for a night of dancing, and I'll tell you. Or maybe you can just tell me what it is this mission is all about in exchange."

After giving Kelvin a nasty glare, Ms. Long turns on her heel and heads for an exit to the alleyways, leaving Kelvin to hurry after her. Kelvin is actually glad the miffed woman didn't take him up on his offer, because she would definitely have slapped him in the face for being a fool instead of muttering nasty things under her breath like she is now.

The only reason Kelvin didn't kill Voroia is because she wasn't bluffing when she said she'd kill everyone in the cantina just to get Kelvin, herself included. Kelvin can't stand cowardice, and if Voroia had gotten cold feet, he really would have ended her right there. Kelvin wouldn't have been able to look her in the eye again without feeling disgust. But Voroia's not just skilled, she's got courage and determination in spades. Having a deadly woman like that on his tail will make things a whole lot more interesting for Kelvin from here on out, even if Ms. Long never comes clean with him about the mission.


	3. The Burning Skyline

**Chapter 3 – The Burning Skyline**

The rank scent of piled humanity that pervades the dark alleys of Nar Shaddaa's warehouse district only adds to Kelvin's bad humor as he and Ms. Long walk leisurely along, after having made sure they have successfully given those security forces the slip. And Ms. Long's curt answers are making his temper even worse.

"You don't need to know."

"And I'm telling you I _do_," hisses Kelvin, who has just been forced to act as a lookout in an act of breaking and entering while Ms. Long sliced a shipping database. "We just broke into a Hutt's drug storehouse, and nearly got caught in the act! If any of their surveillance equipment survived your purge, the Cartel will have _my face_ on holo."

"So? You know Kel, for a guy, you sure do whine like-"

As the pair are about to step out of the side streets and onto a roadway proper, Kelvin grabs Ms. Long by the shoulder and spins her to face him. With an upward pointed finger for emphasis, Kelvin begins stating his position. "First off, don't call me Kel. I'm also sick of putting up with your insults, and I'm not above decking a woman or worse. And you know what? Don't you dare make light of crossing a Hutt. I can't think of any other species more petty, backstabbing, opportunistic, and willing to piss away credits to satisfy a personal vendetta. And I've met Republic Senators. And now you may have just put me on a Hutt's **shit-list**, and I _need_ to know _why!_"

"If you want to know so badly," says Ms. Long, reveling in her patronizing tone, "Then send a written request to Mr. Boots. I'm sure he'll speed the paperwork for clearance up to only taking a month or two."

Ms. Long steps into the light first, her long raven dark hair given shining highlights by the variously colored fluorescent business signs and advertisements even as it frames her duskily tanned features. Features that would be pleasant to look at if the code named woman ever bothered to be something other than cold and abrasive. The woman is dressed for anonymity tonight, as everything she is wearing, from her pants to her jacket, is made of drab single colored fabrics. An ensemble tailor made for a stealthy entry and then fading into a crowd afterward. If the woman had provided Kelvin with any warning, he may have picked out an outfit of a similar nature for the night.

Kelvin steps out into the light after the shrewish woman, showing a brown haired and stubble bearded man in his mid to late thirties. The adventures from dozens of worlds add to his ruggedly handsome and undamaged features, and on the long brown Krayt leatheris coat Kelvin always wears. Except for the hidden armoring and materials used in the coat's manufacture, it is completely unremarkable looking with its straight lines and flat collar. The only thing about Kelvin that could possible make him stand out in a cantina from the other rough and tumble lot that gather there would be his armor plated leatheris chaps he tends to wear over a pair of fabric pants. They're easy to swap out from one pair of pants to the next, and much cheaper to maintain than a pair of armored leggings. Much more comfortable and easy to move around in too, which is a must in a job were the winner tends to be the guy that runs away the fastest.

But even though Ms. Long and Kelvin are walking in the light now, Kelvin's mood is still quite dark. Because of the job he'd agreed to undertake, Kelvin has had one of the best bounty hunters he's run into put on his tail, and as a result, has spent the last two weeks constantly covering his tracks. The amount of wasted time, credits, and schmoozing Kelvin has had to do in order to keep himself hidden on a planet of informants and information brokers is tremendous. But Kelvin is used to the process, indeed it's a kind of game for him. The problem is that he still doesn't know what the heck job he's been hired on for.

It should be a small thing, but it rankles Kelvin every few seconds like an itch that can't be scratched. And Ms. Long knows this. Kelvin is certain the woman is having fun keeping her mouth shut, turning it into a little power play over Kelvin, and he's just about had enough. Staring a hole into the back of the SIS agent's head, Kelvin starts pondering whether it would be worth it to cancel the job and kick Ms. Long off his ship just to be over and done with it.

Besides, the job is proving to be far less entertaining than Mr. Boots had suggested it would be.

Kelvin's grouchy thoughts are interrupted by the realization that the sound of a heavy duty engine is getting far too close to be ignored.

Spinning about in mid-stride, Kelvin takes a few steps backwards as he scans the road in the direction the sound is coming from, finding it to be a mostly vacant avenue with nothing mechanical that would explain the source of the noise.

"Something wrong?" asks Ms. Long with actual worry.

"I've just… got a bad feeling."

A roaring ripple of grinding exhaust causes Kelvin and Ms. Long to look up, the sound's direction suddenly becoming distinct as a swarm of swoop bikers descend on the pair. Kelvin and Ms. Long are instantly surrounded in a five meter radius by a maneuver that could have been considered well practiced and executed if the sharp dives of the bikers had not included the braces and mufflers of their bikes grinding against the ground. This alone was enough to tell Kelvin, a professional pilot, that this mass flies on adrenaline, aggression, and a feeling of invulnerability. Add all that to the stupidity a person would have to have in order to ride a free flying Swoop Bike, which is practically a rocket engine with a seat on it and no safety systems, and you have a dangerous and unpredictable set of opponents. These particular bikes are all ugly, unpainted brown and orange buckets highlighted with patches of rust and without a decorative nose in front of the squarish mesh intake for air to be turned into thrust. A truly bare bones set of vehicles.

Ms. Long presses her back against Kelvin's even as his hands are hovering near his holstered pistols, his fingers positioned to quick draw his guns causing the stabilizers built into his gloves to kick on automatically. But Kelvin doesn't touch the slanted grips. There's too many of the hooting bikers swirling around him and Ms. Long for him to risk making a move of any kind. The bikers still haven't made any effort at interacting, they've just been revving their engines and pulling quick movements to make sure their bikes are cutting off any method of escape. After taking in everything he can about their flying techniques, Kelvin finally starts paying attention to the men themselves, and sees what Swoop gang they are. The icons on their jackets show a circular field of stars torn in half by a clawed hand, clearly showing them to be one of the most rabid gangs on Nar Shaddaa with chapters on other crap worlds as well, and well known for their reputation of being destroyers for hire. They're the Void Rippers, and there is no way this is just a coincidence.

After what seems like an adrenaline distorted eternity, the bikers start to wind down, the revving of engines starts to die away and the low rumbling of their swoops in neutral is all that can be heard, aside from the sound of a holocomm activating in the hands of a red fleshed and horned Devaronian's hand. As the holocomm energizes, a familiar face takes shape. Ms. Long's face.

"No mistake," says the Devaronian, his broken teeth revealed in his satisfied smile. "This ones the mark."

Ms. Long quietly says Kelvin's name for some reason, but he doesn't respond or move anything but his eyeballs as they flick between the ready weapon hands of biker after biker. The short but bulky Devaronian steps off his swoop, his boots audibly grinding on the metal roadway. Pulling the heavy riding goggles from his eyes to around his neck, the horned man says, "You got two choices lady. You're either coming with us dead, or you're coming with us voluntarily. Trust me, the second choice will hurt less."

The Devaronian's smile makes both options seem equally distasteful, which is reflected in the tone of voice Ms. Long uses to respond. "I'm not going anywhere with the likes of-"

"You only want the woman, right?"

Ms. Long's surprised "what" could almost be classified as a yelp, but the Devaronian's face doesn't make it seem like Kelvin's question has caught the being off guard in the slightest. After all, there's no shortage of people looking out for themselves in this galaxy. "Yes, Human, we only want the woman. Which means we get to choose what we do with you." Some of the bikers guffaw and weapons rustle.

Kelvin slowly lifts his hands from his pistols and rests them lightly on the buckle of his gun belt as he takes a step towards the Devaronian and away from a wide eyed Ms. Long. "Well, in that case, I've got an offer for you, Devaronian. I let you take the lady, and in return you let me walk away."

Kelvin and the Devaronian ignore Ms. Long's proclamation of Kelvin being a son of a bitch as the biker responds. "And why would we let you do that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll take you and four or five of your boys down with me," states Kelvin as a matter of pure fact. As the moment gets drawn out and Kelvin's gaze doesn't waver, he adds, "I really _am_ that good."

More than one of the bikers is riled up by this proclamation, and one or two shift uneasily. The Devaronian on the other hand shows why he's their spokesman, and Kelvin becomes convinced he's a leader in their gang, because he's got the nerve to not bat an eye as he considers the situation before saying, "Fine. You get to walk away."

"Been a pleasure," says Kelvin as he turns on his heel and begins to stride past Ms. Long and on his merry way, or at least that is Kelvin's intention. Ms. Long grabs Kelvin's shoulder and says accusingly, "Are you seriously going to abandon me? I'm your employer!"

Cocking an eyebrow, Kelvin amusingly responds, "Just think back on the way you've treated me over the past month, ma'am. You don't tend to inspire loyalty." Kelvin then yanks his shoulder free and begins pacing off again, only to be stopped after one step again.

"So help me, Kelvin," says Ms. Long to his back, "I will shoot you dead if you leave me here to die."

Looking over his shoulder, Kelvin sees Ms. Long pointing a petite hold out blaster pistol at his back, the kind meant to be easily concealed. Kelvin also sees the weapons of half a dozen of the bikers pointed at Ms. Long. The situation is laughable, so Kelvin laughs.

"What's so funny?" demands Ms. Long.

"You are," replies Kelvin honestly. "You really think you're capable of killing someone who's back is turned? You may be a shrew, but you're not like me, Ms. Long. You don't have what it takes to murder someone." Ms. Long's eyes expand a little, her jaw drops a bit, and her gun hand wavers some. "I suggest you give yourself up to these folks and hope for the best, because there's never any hope for a corpse. Good luck, Ms. Long."

Looking away from Ms. Long for a final time, the woman looking like an abandoned puppy as her blaster slowly lowers in shocked resignation, Kelvin resumes his chosen course for self preservation by pressing the hidden switch on his belt buckle after taking another full pace. One of the plates on Kelvin's armored leatheris boots pops open and a small cylinder plunks onto the ground in Kelvin's wake, making just enough sound to grab people's attention. Kelvin has only enough time to close his eyes and lift his hands up to his ears in a parody of a blaster grip to activate the automatic stabilizers before the flashbang explodes.

Thanks to the stabilizers, Kelvin weathers the disorienting blast of sound far better than any of the others around him. Snapping his eyes open and quick drawing his pistols, Kelvin puts a bolt into two bikers at point blank range blasting from the hip. As the two men fall off their swoop bikes, Kelvin spins on his heel with his left hand resting atop the right for accuracy as he snapshots a pair of bolts into every upright biker as he turns, except for their Devaronian leader. With a dashing hop and a skip, Kelvin puts his full body weight into planting an armored boot right between the horned biker's legs. Unbelievably, the Devenorian's contorted, slack jawed, screw eyed, lolling tongued face is three times uglier than normal at that moment of impact.

As the Devaronian drops, whimpering, Kelvin grabs Ms. Long's hand and drags the half deaf and blind woman to the nearest unoccupied swoop bike. Forcing her on, Kelvin swings his leg over the seat, manually moves Ms. Long's hands to a proper grip on him, and then guns the throttle like he'd seen the bikers doing just a minute before. Both Kelvin and Ms. Long almost fall off from the initial acceleration, but they are able to hold on long enough to get far enough away for Kelvin to slow the bike down. With a quick look back, Kelvin determines they don't have anyone on their trail yet.

"How're you doing, Ms. Long? Can you see and hear yet?"

"My… my eyes are a lot better, but my ears are still ringing, you stupid jerk!" Ms. Long punctuates this with a punch to Kelvin's kidney from behind. Kelvin makes a sound in parody of pain to keep Ms. Long from knowing that his armored coat had taken all the force of her feeble blow. "And why in the hell do you have a flashbang hidden in your boot?"

"Same reason I have a knife behind my belt buckle, detonate in my gloves, and an EMP mine in the lining of my coat. Here, just under the armpit."

"What possible reason could you have for hiding a mine in a place like that!"

"Dunno. Never had an occasion to use it."

Ms. Long abandons the idea of hidden weapons for something more important. The act of telling Kelvin off. "You really are a stupid, two-faced jerk, Kelvin. I really thought you were going to leave me to die."

Keeping his eyes straight forward as he follows the lines of automated traffic lanes, Kelvin calls back over his shoulder at Ms. Long. "I'm a damn convincing liar, I'll give you that, but you still owe me for saving you from a group as nasty as the Void Rippers. You can settle accounts by telling me what your mission is."

Ms. Long huffs indignantly and replies, "How many ways do I have to say no, Kelvin? Not only do you not need to know, but you don't have clearance for this kind of information, either. Let's just get back to the ship and off this rust bucket of a moon."

"Yeah," says Kelvin, drawing out the word nonchalantly. "That's not gonna wash anymore." Kelvin pushes the control bars forward and dips the swoop bikes nose down, moving directly into the oncoming traffic lane. As Ms. Long starts screaming nonsensical words, Kelvin pulls up just before slamming into the roof of a luxury two door speeder.

"What are you doing!" demands Ms. Long.

"Just getting the hang of this baby. Never ridden a swoop bike before. Need to run her through some paces before I can fly her right."

"Well no more paces, Kelvin! No more paces!"

"I dunno, Ms. Long. I think I'll keep testing her until you come clean with me," says Kelvin as he parks the bike in the tiny safe zone between lanes, the air being furiously displaced as vehicles pass them at full speed on both sides. Shouting over the noise, Kelvin completes his sentence. "Or maybe we'll just wait here for the rest of the Void Rippers to track us down! Now, what is your mission!"

"Are you nuts? This isn't the time or the place!"

"Not the answer I'm looking for!" shouts Kelvin as he starts playing with the control bars. Seems pressing only one side down at a time tilts the swoop, probably for those high speed turns. So Kelvin starts pressing the bars down in an alternating pattern causing the swoop to rock like a hobby horse, except side to side, which in turn causes Ms. Long's head to be swayed close to the rushing traffic lanes.

"Are you completely insane! Stop it, Kelvin, stop right now!"

"You know how to make me stop, Ms. Long! Tell me your mission!" Gunning the engine, Kelvin roars along the vacant median of the sky lanes, and then pulls into the forward moving traffic lane, directly in front of a huge cargo hauler. Then Kelvin hits the brakes, then the throttle, in a repeated herky jerky motion that brings the grill of the hauler closer every time with Ms. Long screaming in Kelvin's ear. Finally the woman says the magic words. "Alright, Kelvin! I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Just stop! Please!"

Kelvin pulls the swoop bike out of traffic and into the free airspace, coming to a complete stop to give the gasping Ms. Long a chance to breath and says, "There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

After giving Kelvin a look that could kill, resurrect, and then kill again, Ms. Long gasps a full breath of air and asks Kelvin what he would like to hear first.

"I'd prefer you start from the beginning, but as far as I can tell, all of this started with the informant I picked up on Meraleek. So start-"

A familiar sound tickles Kelvin's ear mid-sentence catching his attention and causing him to snap his head in the direction's source to see a number of swoop bikes closing in. The only reason Kelvin didn't blast the Devaronian is because a dead leader is instantly replaced by his second, but an incapacitated leader slows the entire group. The Devaronian must have a bronzium pair to recover so quickly.

Kelvin guns the throttle and shouts over the noise of the engine and the sound of the air whipping over the windshield for Ms. Long to hold on tight. With a check in the rear viewer, Kelvin notices the marked absence of a biker with horns, which means this is a separate group of Void Rippers. Seems the gang has been canvassing the sector for Ms. Long. Speaking of whom…

"Why aren't you talking, Ms. Long? You said you were going to tell me everything!"

"This isn't really the best time for that, Kelvin! Eep!"

Ms. Long squeaks as a series of bolts come a bit close for comfort as the pursuing bikers open fire with a load out of pistols. Seems trying to outrun them won't do the trick.

"Ms. Long, I've been waiting a month to hear this from you, and I'm not letting you back out! Now hold on tight and keep talking!"

Dipping the handles down and pulling left, Kelvin pulls into a tight turn to slide into a far narrower skyway with less traffic in it. Not as any grand escape plan, but to start getting a feel for how the bike handles at high speed. The controls aren't unlike his Jade Phoenix, but without the need to compensate for so much shifting mass. Kelvin continues to yank the small craft around as Ms. Long starts her explanation.

"Alright, the informant was part of the Imperial military's biochemical department. More exactly, he was a man that procured test materials for research."

"So he collected slaves for them to test chemical weapons on?" asks Kelvin as he flinches from a bolt flying past his head. Checking the rear viewer, it looks like three bikers have followed him into the side skylanes and one of them is talking into a comm. unit. The pursuit is organized.

"No, nothing like that. He gathered plants, animals, and strains of diseases found on civilized worlds, though more often through the Underworld than not. His department was responsible for the development of immunization treatments so Imperial troops can conquer worlds without getting sick."

Kelvin is almost too occupied to listen, what with the twin jobs of swerving enough to keep from taking any of the blast bolts, which is cutting into the lead he has on the bikers, and the task of looking for an opportunity to lose them. "Sounds like the least shady job a guy can have in the Empire."

"It pretty much is," replies Ms. Long as she intensifies her hold on Kelvin. "Or it _was_ until a Sith Alchemist had his department put under his direct command."

"Okay, hold that thought," says Kelvin as he finally sees something promising. An opening to a manufacturing district. For security reasons, the entrances and exits should only be large enough for a few large haulers and there will be lots of pipelines, docks, and hanging machinery. In other words, confined spaces and lots of obstacles.

Perfect.

With a crazy smile on his face, Kelvin dips the nose of the swoop bike and pulls hard to the right to get a banking turn in order to make sure the pursuing bikers have the time to make the same move. The entrance is narrower than Kelvin had hoped, and there is a security booth right in the center stretching from the floor to the ceiling. No turrets or security fields though, so Kelvin guns the throttle with a clear conscience and rummages inside his jacket. Fast approaching the entrance, one of the two Gamorrean guards inside points a finger as Kelvin tosses his located toy into the air, letting his momentum guide its path. Kelvin hears the pig-like squeal from one of the guards as he zooms past, and then locks an eye on the rear viewer which is showing the three pursuing bikers closing fast. Then the entire view is blocked by a fast moving expanse of black as the smoke grenade Kelvin had tossed fills the entrance and billows out farther still. A moment afterward, there is a fiery explosion where the guard post was and only two bikers emerge from the cloud, one far too low as the bottom rails of his swoop strike the ground and sparks can be seen flying. The grind of metal on metal is too much, causing the bike to catch and flip, throwing the biker into the air. The biker's landing is hard, and his upending roll along the metal turf will in no way end well. The third and final biker pulls to a stop and starts talking into his comm. unit.

With that taken care of, and without slowing down, Kelvin says over his shoulder in an oddly polite manner, "You were saying something about a Sith?"

Clearing her throat to regain her composure, Ms. Long continues. "Yes. A Sith Alchemist placed the informant's vaccine department directly under his orders and then sent the man out to collect all the common cold bacteria he could find. The informant had been performing that task for three months when he figured something was up and contacted SIS."

"What's so insidious about the common cold?" asks Kelvin absently, his attention taken up with taking in all he can about his surroundings, and finding patterns in the architecture. "Is it some insidious plot to assassinate the Jedi by plugging up their sinuses?"

"Don't you get it?" hisses Ms. Long into Kelvin's ear. "The cold bug is the most successful cross species bacterial infection in the galaxy! The Sith Alchemist was gathering materials to create a baseline agent for the creation of the most infectious manufactured bacterial disease possible."

Kelvin's wandering eye halts on two forms, advancing on him from dead ahead. Kelvin had been hoping for more time, but it looks like the Void Rippers are already converging on the district. There must be a hefty price on Ms. Long's head. Kelvin instantly makes a left into a narrower side path he'd marked before on the far side from him, the wide turn necessary because of his speed, while calling out his question.

"If it's germ warfare, why go for bacteria instead of a virus? I mean, a dose of anti-bacterials is all you need to cure an infection like that."

The two swoop bikers make a similar move as Kelvin, their speed necessitating an equally wide turn, and the biker on the inside of the turn slams head first into a vertical pipeline. The wingman fails to get caught in the fireball as he makes it into the pathway on the far left side. While it is still the same pathway, the biker is practically cut off from Kelvin and Ms. Long as similar vertical pipes of extreme thickness fill the pathway as far as the eye can see.

Trying her best to ignore being caught in the tight confines, the pipes and the wall being only a couple meters away on each side, Ms. Long continues. "And yet the common cold is still everywhere. It's too hardy to be eliminated, and if an entire planet were infected, like Coruscant, the _capitol_ of the Republic, we wouldn't have the resources to cure everyone. The best case scenario would be that hundreds of thousands of infected are quarantined while the senators are evacuated to a far more vulnerable location."

"Okay, so the Sith is making something that can't be easily contained. But what's this disease suppose to _do?_" Just as Kelvin asks the sixty-four thousand credit question, a bolt strikes the windshield near his face. Taking a quick peek to his left, Kelvin intermittently sees the wingman of the unfortunate biker from before through the openings between the industrial piping. The ambitious bastard must have pushed his engine into the red to catch up like that, and is now firing like mad with a pistol trying to hit Kelvin and Ms. Long through the occasional gaps. Well, it's only proper to return the favor.

Kelvin draws a pistol in his right hand and crosses it in front of his chest to fire at the biker, using the windshield as cover from the rushing currents to try and have some better accuracy, but Kelvin is still firing blind. Ms. Long tries to help out, firing wildly at the biker with her hold out pistol in her left hand as she continues to talk. "SIS couldn't figure it out either for a good long time. My department had to do a lot of digging to get anything, let alone the name of the Sith that was in charge of the operation."

Sparks are flying as fast and free as the blaster shots, five out of six bolts striking the pipes and dazzling the corner of Kelvin's view. Looking over quick, he sees the biker talking into an ear mounted comm. link while flying and shooting. "Out of curiosity, what _is_ the name of the guy in charge?"

Pausing in her shooting for a moment, Mr. Long says the name loud and clear. "Alchemist Zastool."

"Oh, shit." Says Kelvin automatically. He knows the name Zastool, and he's a Bad News Bantha. Not for his cruelty, but because he has no concept of worth. Life, death, poverty, wealth, despair, joy, allies, or enemies. All of it is completely equal in his eyes. He's not a nihilist, though, as that would mean he has a belief. He just doesn't care about anything, except having his orders carried out to the letter. Hearing that a guy like that is involved is half the reason for Kelvin's profanity. The other half is that now Kelvin knows who the biker on the other side of the pipes was talking to.

Barreling down the pathway in the opposite direction of Kelvin is one of the Void Rippers. It only takes a moment to tell the guy intends to turn the situation into a game of chicken, as he's on an equal altitude with Kelvin despite the roomy vertical clearance and not bothering to check his speed in the slightest. Well, that's one game Kelvin doesn't play, but has every intention of winning. Kelvin holsters his pistol, snatches Ms. Long's hold out blaster from her hand and puts it into a pocket before shouting for her to "Hold her steady!"

As Ms. Long's confused "What?" escapes her mouth, Kelvin grabs Ms. Long's hands and forces them onto the handlebars. "Use a firm grip! She's a little skittish!"

As Ms. Long shouts "Are you out of your mind!" Kelvin draws both pistols. The blasters aren't much to look at, a slanting grip going up to a blocky combustion chamber with a half cylinder on the outside half for an acceleration module. But the barrels are customized longer than normal, and since the pistols are mirror images of one another, there is a sighted scope on the top inside corner of the combustion chamber perfectly spaced so each eye can have a scope to itself. Used as a pair, they're the most accurate pistols Kelvin has ever known.

Ignoring the biker on the other side of the pipes, Kelvin starts firing on the one coming at him. The man starts returning fire, aiming for Kelvin who's sitting tall and with his hands extended all the way out, but the windshield of Kelvin's swoop is getting in the way and the biker only manages a grazing blow on Kelvin's shoulder. Kelvin is also firing, a fast paced stream of bolts as each blaster fires immediately on the tail of the other, but Kelvin isn't aiming at the biker laying low behind his own durable windshield.

The air intake of the chicken playing biker's swoop begins to glow orange from the swiftly repeated blaster bolts until the grill begins to melt. Another half dozen bolts punch through to the swoop's engine and the machine ignites from within, fire exploding from the front and the rear as it begins to fall. The rider doesn't have time to understand what just happened before his bike strikes the unyielding ground, and then the fuel tank detonates. Passing through the plume of smoke, Kelvin re-holsters his pistols, takes over the steering, hands Ms. Long her hold out blaster again, and says, "Thanks for the assist, but you could have done a better job of keeping her level. I missed three shots."

"Well maybe next time, you could just die in a ditch," replies Ms. Long as she once again starts shooting at the biker that is still keeping pace on the other side of the pipes.

"So back to the discussion, what's the bacteria suppose to do?"

"Destroy civilizations," says Ms. Long without any drama, making the phrase seem somehow believable and insidious. It's powerful enough to make Kelvin's concentration on flying lapse just enough that he doesn't immediately realize he's cleared the side path and lost its covering pipes. The neat hole appearing in the side of the swoop, causing the engine to grind unnaturally for a few moments before whatever internal turmoil smoothes itself out, though brings Kelvin back to his immediate surroundings. Kelvin naturally reacts by turning his swoop to the right and away from the wingman biker, but tries to keep the guy on a lateral slant so Ms. Long can keep taking pot shots at the guy. Unsuccessfully, though, as the biker is staying as low under his windshield as he can, maximizing cover and firing back with a bent arm. At least both sides are shooting wild, so Kelvin's pretty confident their side won't lose.

"Okay, so it's the Doomsday Cold. How is it supposed to destroy worlds? Is it a mutagen like that whatchamacallit on Taris?"

Ms. Long continues her one handed shooting practice, her other arm wrapped around Kelvin's torso for stability, as she answers. "No, nothing so obvious as the Rakghoul plague. And not anything so direct either. The Rakghoul virus needs direct contact with an infected to be transmitted and cannot survive outside a host environment, so given enough resources you can quarantine an infected city or even a planet. But this modified bacteria should be able to survive on any surface that is not directly decontaminated like a regular cold bug can."

Kelvin interrupts Ms. Long's monologue with a quieter comment that was only carried to the woman's ears by the wind. "What's he doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's like this guy behind us isn't even interested in getting a hit on us anymore, and he was trying so hard when we were in that side path. It's like he's happy to just have us keep going in this direction…"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Kelvin hits the decelerator, killing the bike's speed causing Ms. Long to slam hard into Kelvin's back and the pursuing biker to overshoot them entirely. Not letting this chance go to waste, Kelvin draws a pistol and cleanly puts three out of four bolts into the back of the biker who has lost the cover of his windshield, and then holster the pistol again as swiftly as a person can. Without any of his customary gloating, Kelvin does a one hundred and eighty degree turn as tightly as possible and accelerates in the direction they'd just come from.

"What was that about, Kelvin?"

"We were being herded. Into what, I dunno, but nothing- Scratch that, I know what we were being herded towards, now."

In the rear viewer, Kelvin sees a full dozen or more swoop bikers come around a corner farther down the path he'd been flying towards moments before, more bikers than had originally surrounded Kelvin and Ms. Long at the beginning of this little crisis. Pushing the accelerator as much as he can, Kelvin notes that he is only just keeping his lead on the almost two dozen Void Rippers on his tail.

"Keep talking, Ms. Long. We may not live much longer and I'd rather die informed. What does the bacteria weapon do, exactly?"

Now at too far a range for her hold out blaster to harm anything, even if it hit it, Ms. Long concentrates everything into her grip on Kelvin and the explanation. Seems she's completely forgotten that she had once been deliberately keeping all this from the man not that long ago. "The bacteria invades the brain and sets up colonies in the cognitive centers, and causes a growth on the adrenal gland. Simulations show that it slowly impairs the infected party's perception of reality, not unlike schizophrenia, and then causes sharp jolts of adrenaline to provoke highly violent responses. The same simulations show that isolated cases can be contained with minimal loss of life, but the contagion could easily spread into an epidemic causing the complete collapse of any single world's social order through mass rioting and berserk killing sprees, not including cross planet contamination by smugglers or refugees."

"So in plain Basic, the people tear their worlds apart all on their own?"

"Well, yes, if you dumb it down enough for someone like you to understand it. The SIS has designated the strain as the Psychotropic-Adrenal Infectant, or PAI for short."

"PAI? You seriously named it after a baked good?"

"I'm not in the naming department, so shut it. As for how we know what it does-"

"Wait a sec, automated hauler."

As Kelvin pulls out his pistol again, Ms. Long catches onto the idea and readies her hold out blaster as well. They're closing in on an unmanned cargo transport, meant to take heavy materials from one factory across the way to another. As they begin passing under it, both Kelvin and Ms. Long begin opening fire on the flatbed's unprotected underside and manage to cripple its lift generation systems. As the duo's swoop leaves the toppling flatbed in their wake, the chasing bikers end up having no choice but to go under it. As the flatbed's angle becomes critical, there is a rain of beams, plating, and large machinery parts that straight out crush three swoop bikes to scrap along with their owners, dismounts another at break neck speeds, and as the flatbed itself flips and jets itself downward, crushes a fifth flat. Unfortunately, there is no explosion to take any more of the bikers out, but knocking off a quarter of their pursuers is no mean feat.

Ms. Long starts laughing like she's at a carnival and shouts ecstatically, "Did you see that!"

"Most beautiful thing I've seen all day! Not to kill the buzz, but how do you know what that PAI does?"

"Because our informant's division is currently working on creating a vaccine and a cure for the finished product."

Kelvin feels a chill run up his spine. That crazy-bomb disease is not only something that can be made, but it already exists. And then the chill runs colder as Kelvin hears the roar of sirens. Checking the rear viewer he sees six speeder cars with red and blue flashing lights on them. "Crap, it's the law."

"Wait, isn't that a good thing? They'll help us."

"Not in Hutt space. Not these Cartel cops. Those guys are closer to private security or mercenaries than they are to public protectors. Anything they can't easily arrest…"

The windows of the security speeders roll down and from each one leans out either a rifle or a pistol, and all of them begin opening fire on anything riding a swoop bike.

"They kill."

One of the bikers take a rifle bolt through the chest in the opening salvo, bring him and his bike crashing on the ground. The bikers don't hesitate to fire on the security speeders which turns the straight forward chase into a three party gunfight with both sides taking casualties as the concentrated blaster fire of the Void Rippers causes one of the security speeders to start smoldering under the hood before the engine gives out. The speeder ends up making a crash landing, but the bikers are going down in heavy numbers. In no time at all there won't be any more Void Rippers standing between Kelvin and Ms. Long taking a rifle bolt in the back. But if Kelvin's instincts are as correct as his sense of direction, an opening out to the open skylanes should be coming up soon.

Trying to take his mind off the even more certain death chasing after them, Kelvin starts shouting over the combined sounds of sirens, whipping wind, and blaster fire. "Alright, so your informant told you what that PAI is, what it does, and so on. Did he tell you where the lab that's making it is? Is it here on Nar Shaddaa? That why we're here?"

Ms. Long is beginning to feel the panic of the situation after seeing that one Void Ripper that got blasted lose control of his bike and get hit straight on by a security speeder. The broken windshield and red smear left behind being very visible. Her voice is now shaking a little from that anxiety. "No, we have no idea where the lab is. The informant's entire department was relocated to a secret base, and have stayed there since the project was started two and a half years ago. Since the informant was in charge of procurement he was the only one allowed to roam free. Mostly free at least, considering the guards you had to go through to make contact with him."

"Wait, if the informant hasn't set foot in the labs, how does he know about the PAI?"

"He had to check in every time he dropped off a shipment of resources. Whenever he did, he received a quick briefing from a military supervisor that links him, the Sith and his lab, and Imperial high command. Recently the supervisor was replaced with an incompetent officer that let the current state of the operation slip and our informant was able to steal the documentation that he's passed on to us."

Judging by travel time, the fact that the districts are big squares, and the direction they're traveling, that dullish area up ahead should be the exit to the skylanes proper. Kelvin's hope is still alive as he responds to Ms. Long. "And that info didn't include a mailing address, gotcha. But why are we on- shit!"

The area ahead isn't dull in color, it's darkened because the lights have been turned off. But it's not too dark for Kelvin to make out the blockade of security speeders, floating turrets, and ready sharpshooters. Looks like all the security in the sector has shown up to catch the rampaging swoop gang between a rock and a hard place, and none of them would mind putting a bolt or two into Kelvin. The blockade is impenetrable on a craft so defenseless as a swoop bike, and if he slows down to pull a hairpin turn in this narrow corridor then he'll be a sitting mynock for anyone with a blaster and two scruples. Kelvin could pull into a factory or storehouse, but he'd lose his transit and there's no telling what ground based security this region has. It's still a last resort though, but Kelvin quickly checks the gears on his swoop bike over for what he'll need.

"Oh, you beautiful old rust bucket, I could kiss you! Hold on _very tight_, Ms. Long, and keep your legs high or you may lose 'em!"

Kelvin dips the nose down and heads at the steepest angle for the fabricated ground he can without endangering his and his passenger's life any more than the aerial acrobatics has to. But the angle is enough that Ms. Long starts fearing a suicide run. "What are you doing Kelvin!"

Kelvin shouts his answer forwards, not daring to take his eyes off his maneuver. "I can't make a regular turn here! A fast turn requires a wide turning arc to deal with momentum shifts, even on something as light as this swoop!"

Kelvin pulls up at the last moment, killing some of the downward momentum with his upward thrust of jets. The landing is softer, but both of the swoop's occupants feel the impact all the way to their teeth. Recovering from the jarring blow in an instant, as a true pilot would, Kelvin keeps shouting as the sparks from the controlled skid fly up around him like the bow wave of a seafaring cutter. "That's why I have to quickly kill my forward momentum in order to turn this bike the way I want it to go, quick!"

As the swoop slows some, to nearly a quarter of the speed it had been traveling before, Kelvin tugs the control bars up sharply and the bike skips up and the screeching wail comes to an end. Tugging the bars sharply, Kelvin turns the swoop about while shifting a lever on the side of the steering column which causes the sound of the engine and gears to change, grow quieter and deeper in tone. "Which allows me to do a one eighty without a large and predictable arc! But the problem is that momentum takes time to build, time we don't have!"

The swoop is now gliding backwards, its unprotected rear pointed at the security blockade which is nearly in blaster range, and charging Void Rippers and security forces advancing on them in what seems like a nightmarish blur of speed. "So I popped this thing into Neutral to get the engine working," shouts Kelvin as he cranks the accelerator to full, the growl of the engine becoming a deep howl. "And then-"

The rest is lost to the sound of cracking and grinding gears as Kelvin pulls a racing swoop start, shifting into gear the instant his engine's potential output is at it's maximum. The swoop bike is not designed for such a high performance act, and will likely have its guts so worn out by it that the craft will soon no longer be serviceable, but it was a disposable machine in the first place. In a fraction of a second, the wrenching of the internal parts is overcome by the roar of exhaust and the jarring feeling of having your internals yanked in two opposite directions.

Kelvin's racer start was so fast and unexpected that the Void Rippers scatter out of Kelvin's path in panic. Some try to turn around to give chase to Kelvin by sacrificing their speed, but those ones are either blasted by the security cars' riflemen or deliberately run over by the speeders themselves. The Void Rippers that tried to continue on and make a break for it are swiftly gunned down at the barricade by the turrets and marksmen. Only one Ripper is still mounted and healthy at the end of the show, parking his swoop in mid air and reaching his hands towards the sky. Security guns him down without a care. Kelvin sees the entire performance in the rear viewer, just as he sees that one of the security speeders gave up the chase of the Void Rippers to slow down and turn around. Now the speeder is in pursuit of Kelvin's swoop bike.

"We're never gonna make it out like this," shouts Ms. Long into Kelvin's ear.

"Let me worry about that! Just keep talking! Why are we here, why Nar Shaddaa?"

"Because the adrenal part of the PAI is based on Hutts Venom, the key ingredient to making Stims, and a chemical that only the Hutts know how to make. It's probably the best kept secret in the Galaxy! And the PAI bacteria needs it not only for manufacture, but its the bacteria's only stable method of storage and a reliable means of smuggling to target worlds in larger Stim shipments to cause outbreaks. The PAI can't be delivered in a box or in a canister, it has to mature in a living host first. _That's_ why we've been on Nar Shaddaa for two weeks, I've been trying to track which Hutt has been selling pure Hutts Venom to the Imperials."

"And we broke into that warehouse tonight to get the list of which Imperials have received Hutts Venom, and in what quantities! Damn, conspiracies are convoluted!"

Kelvin's point is punctuated by a rifle bolt smashing through the windshield, which has already withstood several pistol blasts. Checking the rear viewer again, Kelvin sees the rifleman hanging out the window of the security speeder, far closer than the vehicle should be. Checking the displays, Kelvin sees his own swoop isn't flying nearly so fast as it should be. Looks like the fast take off was just as brutal to it's insides as Kelvin had feared. Seems like Kelvin can't outrun the Cartel's hired guns, and with their coordination he can't stunt fly his way through any of the normal exits before another blockade gets set up. Going forward won't get him anywhere, and neither will going back. Going to the side won't change anything either. Looks like Kelvin has to go up.

"Lay down some cover fire, Ms. Long, I need time to look for an opening!"

"Right!"

Ms. Long starts firing ineffectual shots at the security speeder, but they are just accurate enough for the rifleman to have to start looking for opportunities to fire instead of having all the time in the world to line up his shots. Even though the security cruiser is getting closer by the second, Kelvin is forcing his eyes to look forwards and up instead of back. He's looking for smoke trails.

There is no Hutt owned factory that doesn't expel noxious fumes, it's far cheaper than having any kind of cleaning system, and this self enclosed amalgamation of factories is no exception. Kelvin has seen at least a hundred exhaust ports since he's entered the district, though not actively registering them, and all that smoke has to go somewhere to keep workers from being asphyxiated.

"They're getting too close, Kelvin! I think they're gonna ram us!" Ms. Long's shout can be heard as a cry of desperation, and rightly so. The security speeder is gaining fast and hard on the crippled swoop, and Kelvin can see a line of white spittle on the lower lip of the driver in the rear viewer. Looking up one last time as he frantically rummages in his coat, Kelvin sees what he's looking for at the same time as he gets a hold on a thermal detonator. Kelvin presses and holds the priming button for the detonator, and counts the seconds before throwing it right behind him and at the security speeder. The detonator explodes in mid air, just in front of the speeder, shattering the windshield and causing the driver to swerve as Kelvin pulls up on the control bars as hard as he can. Gaining altitude, Kelvin starts to brake as he lines up the swoop bike with a square opening at the top of a vaulted set of inclining roof sections, the smoke and vileness of a few dozen production plants passing through the two meter by two meter opening.

"Hold your breath and close your eyes," shouts Kelvin as he takes his own advice and twists the altitude control grip on the control bars. Moving up into the foulness far too slowly for Kelvin's pleasure, he's still able to feel the caustic vapors inside his nose even without breathing, and hears Ms. Long's reviled moan behind him. Moving up into the smoke channel, Kelvin hears the bang of a blaster rifle and the crack of bolts hitting well below him. Kelvin and Ms. Long have passed to far into the smoke channel to be targeted anymore, but they can't breath. Even if they stopped holding their breaths and took in air, there wouldn't be any wholesomeness to it, the vapors would just choke the life out of them.

The caustic scent in Kelvin's nose continues, and increases for what seems like forever. Kelvin's closed eyes begin to burn too, and Kelvin begins to doubt his own eyesight. He'd chosen this channel because he saw the light of dawn breaking through it. As Kelvin's mind starts trying to recall how many seconds he's been holding his breath, his mind also starts wondering the time. Is it really so late that dawn is coming out? The chase up to this point seems like it's taken forever, but was that just tension? Is it still the dead of night and Kelvin just floated Ms. Long and himself into a deathtrap based on some poorly placed fluorescent lights? Ms. Long's hand, where is it. Have to keep a hold of it in case she passes out. Can't let her fall. And just how many seconds or minutes ago did Kelvin break his record time for holding his breath, the record made long ago as a childish fancy. And as Kelvin starts getting lightheaded, only one last thought echoes over and over in his mind. "When can I breath!"

As Kelvin is fighting against the convulsions that are trying to force spent air out of his body to replace it, he feels something against his face. Wind.

A few moments pass and the sting in his eyes lessens, and the burning inside his nose weakens. And then Kelvin lets out an explosion of stale air before gulping fresh air back in greedily, echoed by Ms. Long, both parties coughing intermittently as they squint at the intense light of dawn that is so rarely seen on Nar Shaddaa, the entire skyline colored in bright reds and yellows as if the world was ablaze with light. And just as quickly as it had appeared, the light dims as the polluted clouds of Nar Shaddaa win out over the light of the sun leaving nothing but unfulfilled promises of wholesome warmth behind.

"We have to get back," croaks Kelvin as he gently works the throttle for the swoop. No sense in pushing the girl now, not with her on her final legs like this. "The guys on the Jade Phoenix are waiting for us."

"That's a good idea," says Ms. Long quietly, the weariness of the day catching up to her. "The shipping manifest was the last thing I needed in Nar Shaddaa. I need to get it back to Mr. Boots for analysis."

# # # # #

Kelvin and Ms. Long start stripping off the maintenance worker coveralls and caps they stole from the dockyard where they ditched the stolen swoop bike upon walking up the boarding stairway for the Jade Phoenix. The Phoenix is currently in a fourth rate ship dock that they've been using as a hiding place for the last two days. A seedy and out of the way location that is use to having "problematic customers," complete with horrible rust everywhere in the complex and no guarantee that the docking bays are structurally sound enough to handle the weight of the ship inside them. But as of right now, all of that is behind them as the Phoenix is just about twenty minutes away from breaking atmosphere and leaving Nar Shaddaa behind.

"Silgar," shouts Kelvin as he hits the button to close the boarding stairs and secure the ship. "Get the Phoenix ready for takeoff. I've seen enough of Nar Shaddaa to last me a few months." Kelvin might have said a lifetime, but he's too honest for that. There's always escaping slaves on Nar Shaddaa, and Kelvin's made a mint of money transporting escapees in bulk or on a case by case basis. And some of the dancing girls can be quite appreciative.

"Silgar," shouts Kelvin again, his fatigue increasing his annoyance at being ignored. "You here?"

Kelvin and Ms. Long free themselves of the leggings of the coveralls and kick the baggy self contained sacks of fabric into a corner. They may have been loose enough for Kelvin to hide even his long coat inside them, but the smell of another person's usage made wearing them a trial. Kelvin will have to have this entire suit of clothing cleaned. Tromping down the corridor past the main hold, Kelvin shouts even louder as he enters the lounge. "**Silgar!**"

"I'm afraid Silgar can't hear you, Captain," comes an oddly intoned answer from Ferg, the ship's resident genius in weaponry. Ferg's voice is slow and low, for him, as though there was a joke he was not about to let anyone else in on. Kelvin turns to look at Ferg, sitting on the curved sofa around the lounge's main table. The second thing Kelvin notices is the self-satisfied smile on Ferg's face. The first thing Kelvin notices is the high powered, large barreled pistol Ferg is holding in his hand, pointed directly at Kelvin's chest. Kelvin instantly recognizes the pistol as being Voroia Nadjassi's side arm from when he'd been briefly held as her prisoner in the Jewel Hunter cantina.

"Ferg?" comes Kelvin's questioning voice, and Ms. Long gasps lightly just on his left. And from a little farther left, Kelvin hears that strong, commanding, feminine, and familiar voice. "Hello, Kelvin. You're a hard man to catch up to."

Looking at the source of the voice that is nonchalantly leaning against the bulkhead right next to the entrance to the lounge, Kelvin says her name out loud. "Voroia."

Ms. Long instantly yanks her hold out blaster free from her pocket and points it at Voroia, who pushes off the bulkhead using power sent into her shoulders and blocks the rising pistol laden hand with her forearm. The block turns into a grab, and then an elbow to Ms. Long's temple, dropping the young woman to the ground unconscious, the hold out blaster now in Voroia's hand. "Well, that was dangerous," says Voroia mildly. "She might have hurt me."

"Yeah, she has been known to overreact," says Kelvin to the chalk white skinned and tattooed Rattitaki bounty hunter, who's white skin and facial tattoos are entirely visible right now since she's not wearing a helmet. Or her body armor for that fact. Voroia is only wearing a tank top with a visible mid riff and a pair of workout pants with a pair of plated boots at the bottom, most likely the clothes she wears under her combat armor. Speaking of the armor, there isn't a piece of it in sight. "Since you're obviously not here as a bounty hunter, there was no need for her to pull a blaster."

"Well, I hope she feels the same way when she wakes up," says Voroia mildly as she lays the hold out blaster down on the bar counter and sits on a stool. "Where'd you find a jumpy tart like that one?"

"SIS assigned," says Kelvin, heading over to a neighboring barstool, "But before anything else… Hey, Ferg," calls out Kelvin, bending forward to look at the red haired and awkward youth checking the sighting on Voroia's pistol with his tongue sticking out between his lips, "what did you mean when you said 'Silgar can't hear me?'"

"He's asleep in his cabin," comes the instant reply, still in that oddly self-satisfied tone.

Kelvin takes a quick peek at Voroia, who instantly clarifies. "Tranq dart. He got a little aggressive when I showed up on your doorstep."

Kelvin says, "Ah," nods, and then asks, "And why do you have Ferg servicing your pistol?"

Voroia shrugs lightly before leaning onto the bar counter with her arms crossed in front of her, her muscular frame looking dangerously predatory and feminine at the same time, a trick that very few women can pull off. "The kid asked if he could, so I saw no harm in letting him work on the thing. He did a great job on my beat up T-17."

"Yeah," calls Ferg back happily, the pistol apparently being the private happiness that is still coloring his answers. "You have no idea how much of an honor it is to modify a ZR-221 Mark 1 Hand Cannon. They're a real rarity what with the factory recall and all."

"Factory recall?" ask Voroia.

"Yeah, about one in eight of these babies exploded from normal use because of a flaw in the firing system that was overlooked in the first production. There were bloody stumps _all_ across the galaxy," says Ferg, in an almost singsong voice.

If possible, Voroia looks even more pale as she asks, "But… you fixed it, right? My pistol won't explode now… right?"

"Oh, yeah, I just swapped some wires for a higher gauge, and welded some seams shut. A four year old could do it. Hey, how about letting me swap out the barrel to increase the muzzle velocity? It'll take a few days to shape a barrel this large though. And maybe a few other enhancements?"

Ferg's face at that request is more like that of a boy asking for a puppy instead of the awkward teen he is, which puts Voroia off her game, but Kelvin jumps in saying, "Draw up some designs and get the lady's OK, Ferg. _Before_ you modify the gun any further."

With an audible sigh, Ferg says dejectedly, "Okay."

Kelvin answers Voroia's questioning look with only a, "Don't ask." After this bit of awkwardness, Kelvin hears Ms. Long moaning as if she's waking up. "Ferg, put the blaster down for a second and help the lady up."

"Sure thing, Captain!"

With Ms. Long coming to and being set down in a chair, it seems like the best time to ask Voroia the important question. "So, what happened to change your mind about hunting me?"

"Well, Kelvin, like you suggested I got in contact with my intermediary to dig a little deeper into who put the bounty on you."

"And what did you find out?"

"Nothing. My intermediary has disappeared."

"Dead or in hiding," asks Kelvin.

"In hiding."

"How do you know?" asks Ferg as he sits back down at the table and picks up a screwdriver.

"His accounts were closed out and his IDs came up as 'Died at Birth.' So you were right Kelvin, he double crossed me."

"You hit me," shouts Ms. Long in outraged disbelief.

"You pulled a blaster on me," retorts Voroia. "What did you expect me to do, kiss your feet?"

"Voroia's got a point, Long. You kinda deserved it," says Ferg without looking up from his work.

"Call me a skeptic, Voroia," says Kelvin, completely ignoring the previous topic, "But that shouldn't be enough to make you all friendly like this. What else happened to make you come here as a friend and not an armed ally? You never take your armor off if there's even a chance of a fight."

Voroia narrows her lips and purposely looks away from Kelvin for a moment before meeting his eyes again and saying, "You remember the starship I bought with the client's connections?" Voroia continues after Kelvin's nod. "Well, I sold it for about as much as I paid for it to a dealer here on Nar Shaddaa right after I found out my intermediary vanished. I heard on the holonet a few days ago that a ship matching the one I'd just gotten rid of had a fatal malfunction with its atmosphere seals floating in orbit around Nar Shaddaa. Space vacuum killed the new owner instantly."

"And you're sure it's yours?"

"There were holo images, Kelvin. I'm sure."

"Still doesn't explain why you're here, Nadjassi," says Ms. Long accusingly, "Or how you found us."

"Well," punctuates Voroia, obviously not happy about the tone of voice the question was asked in, "whoever set me on Kelvin's trail is obviously trying to get rid of me, so I'm going to get rid of them first. And since they're after Kelvin, and apparently you as well, lil' miss spy, being here should help me catch up with them sooner rather than later. I've also lost my new starship, so I'm in need of transportation to boot. As for the how, well that's a professional secret."

The clattering sound of Voroia's pistol striking the table top punctuates the silence as Ferg fails to twirl the blaster around his trigger finger. Afterward, Kelvin asks, "So you're saying you wanna put what happened behind us, join our mission, and work together in order to get rid of the guys looking to do away with the collective lot of us. Is that what you're saying, Voroia?"

Just about any other person Kelvin has met would try to clarify, inflate, or otherwise hem or haw the situation, but with her customary direct and simple nature, Voroia just coolly says, "Yes."

There's a half beat pause, and Kelvin says, "Welcome aboard."

"Are you nuts!" shouts Ms. Long for maybe the fifth time today, "She tried to use your own Rad-Bomb to kill everyone in that cantina we were in!"

"Oh, please," says Ferg as he scrapes away at some bit of the pistol's insides with a file. "Who _hasn't_ blown up a cantina or two."

Both Ms. Long and Voroia give Ferg a disbelieving look, and then a pointed stare at Kelvin, who responds, "Hey, he's good at what he does."

"Anyway, Kelvin," says Ms. Long, "There is no way we can trust that woman, let alone work with her. I won't allow this woman to join the SIS investigation. Get rid of her."

"No."

"What!"

"You heard me, Ms. Long. I'm the captain of this ship, and I'm the only one that decides who stays and who leaves. And besides, Mr. Boots is the one in charge of the investigation, not you. We'll ask him about it when we meet up again, but I sincerely doubt he'll refuse someone I'd vouch for."

"I think Long is just angry about getting elbowed in the face," says Ferg offhandedly. "Probably," responds Voroia equally casual. At this, Ms. Long emphatically states that Kelvin can do whatever he wants, and that she is turning in. Afterward, a number of mumbled words are lost to hearing as Ms. Long proceeds down the hall and shuts the door to her cabin.

"Speaking of personal injury, Kelvin, I still owe you for blasting me in the stomach."

Before Kelvin can mentally register the meaning behind that sentence, Voroia already has her knuckles in contact with his jaw is a perfect left straight punch. After falling half out of his perch on the stool and an unsightly save by embracing the bar counter, Kelvin rights himself in his seat and gives a quick inspection of the area on Voroia he'd injured her beforehand. "Well, it looks like you healed well. Not a mark on you."

"Not the point, Kelvin," says Voroia as she stands up from her seat while speaking in that ever calm manner of hers, as if everything that happens is under her complete control, "I always repay my debts. And speaking of…"

Kelvin feels the touch of Voroia's right hand across his throbbing left jaw tilt his head up just a little, and the soft velvety touch of Voroia's lips on his as the connection is held for a moment before Voroia draws away again. "That, Kelvin, is for saving my life. I already have a cabin picked out, so I'll say goodnight here."

At the entrance to the hall, Voroia stops and half turns. "It's good to be working with you again, Kelvin." Then Voroia walks off to seal herself in her quarters for some rest.

Kelvin muses on the situation now, with Ferg's whistling helping to occupy a part of his mind. Sith, scientists, spies, hired killers, and now a deadly bounty hunter on his ship. Things are getting more and more interesting all the time. Despite the exertions of the day, Kelvin finds himself smiling and humming a tune in accompaniment to Ferg's as he walks to the cockpit to leave Nar Shaddaa behind for the relative safety of hyperspace. And beyond that, more craziness.

Kelvin can hardly wait.


End file.
